Princess employees who are also Vietnam veterans met Major General James T. Jackson and held the commemorative flag presented to Princess Cruises at a special ceremony.

In a special ceremony coinciding with Armed Forces Day, Princess Cruises was officially recognized as a commemorative partner of the United States of America Vietnam War Commemoration. Major General James T. Jackson (U.S. Army, retired) presented a commemorative flag and certificate from the Secretary of Defense to Princess Cruises President and CEO Alan Buckelew, a Vietnam veteran himself, to mark the occasion.

The cruise line is being recognized as a commemorative partner in this program, created by the Department of Defense, in part because of activities saluting veterans of the U.S. Armed Forces during Princess’ first-ever fundraising cruise. The sailing is expected to generate $1 million for two organizations committed to U.S. veterans – Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund and Operation Homefront Inc. The four-day cruise sails from Houston November 5.

More than 100 Princess employees were in attendance at the special celebration, including many Vietnam veterans, veterans from other conflicts, and military family members. Local student cadets from Valencia High School’s Junior Air Force ROTC opened the program with the presentation of the colors.

Major General James T. Jackson (USA, Ret.), left, presented a certificate from the
Secretary of Defense to Princess Cruises President and CEO Alan Buckelew,
recognizing the line as a partner of the USA Vietnam War Commemoration.

The United States of America Vietnam War Commemoration is a national program conducted under the leadership of the Department of Defense to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War. The national program will include activities to thank and honor veterans of the Vietnam War – including those held as prisoners of war or listed as missing in action ­- for their service and sacrifice on behalf of the U.S. and to thank and honor the families of these veterans. As a commemorative partner, Princess Cruises will conduct activities to recognize Vietnam Veterans for their service, valor and sacrifice. 

To learn more about the Cruise for a Cause click here!

NewDay USA joined us for the first Wall washing of the season!

On May 12 at 10 a.m., VVMF will host the Name Addition Ceremony, during which the changes will be unveiled in Washington, D.C.  These men have met the Department of Defense criteria for addition to The Wall, having sustained wounds in Vietnam from which they eventually perished.

The names of Raymond Clark Thompson, Lester James Veazey, Dennis Ralph Siverling and Clark David Franklin will join the others inscribed on The Wall who lost their lives or remain missing in action as a result of combat in Vietnam. These changes will bring the total number of names on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial to 58,286 men and women who were killed or remain missing in action.

Weather permitting, work to inscribe the names and change designations will be complete by May 5, and the changes will be unveiled during the press event. When names are added, the highly technical procedure requires meticulous work to match the stroke and depth of the surrounding names to within 1/1,000 of an inch. The physical work of adding the names and changing designations will be performed by James Lee of the Colorado-based company, Engrave Write.

The Department of Defense sets the criteria for and makes decisions about whose names are eligible for inscription on The Wall. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund pays for the name additions and status changes, and works with the National Park Service to ensure long-term preservation and maintenance of The Wall.

Names To Be Added to The Wall

ABE3 Clark David Franklin, U.S. Navy
Carlsbad, N.M.
Nov. 7, 1942 – April 24, 1966
Date of Casualty: April 24, 1966

SGT Dennis R. Siverling, U.S. Marine Corps
Ladysmith, Wis.
Aug. 12, 1942 – Jan. 18, 1976
Date of Casualty: Feb. 3, 1966

SPC Raymond Clark Thompson, U.S. Army

West Palm Beach, Fla.

Dec. 18, 1947 – Oct. 27, 2010
Date of Casualty: June 6, 1969

PFC Lester James Veazey, U.S. Marine Corps
Enid, Okla.
Feb. 2, 1948 – June 6, 1977
Date of Casualty: Jan. 20, 1968

Status Changes

Beside each name on the memorial is a symbol designating status. The diamond symbol denotes confirmed death. The cross represents missing in action. When a service member’s remains are returned or accounted for, the diamond is superimposed over the cross. In addition to the four names being added this year, 13 designation changes will be made as well. They include:

• Air Force Lt. Col. Clarence Finley Blanton of El Reno, Okla., Panel 44E, Line 13

• Air Force Lt. Col. Robert Mack Brown of Portsmouth, Va., Panel 1W, Line 90

• Air Force Col. Joseph Christiano of Rochester, N.Y., Panel 4E, Line 36

• Air Force Chief Master Sgt. William Kevin Colwell of Glen Cove, N.Y., Panel 4E, Line 36

• Air Force Capt. Dennis Lee Eilers of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Panel 4E, Line 37

• Air Force Maj. Larry James Hanley of Walla Walla, Wash., Panel 16W, Line 29

• Air Force Chief Master Sgt. Arden Keith Hassenger of Lebanon, Ore., Panel 4E, Line 37

• Air Force Col. Derrell Blackbur Jeffords of Phoenix, Panel 4E, Line 37

• Air Force Lt. Col. Wendell Richard Keller of Fargo, N.D., Panel 30W, Line 5

• Air Force Maj. Aado Kommendant of Lakewood, N.J., Panel 9E, Line 114

• Air Force Capt. Virgil Kersh Meroney III of Fayetteville, Ariz., Panel 30W, Line 6

• Air Force Chief Master Sgt. Larry C Thornton of Idaho Falls, Idaho, Panel 4E, Line 38

• Air Force Airman 1^st Class Jerry Mack Wall of Nacogdoches, Texas, Panel 7E, Line 84

• Army Sgt. 1^st Class Gunther Herbert Wald of Bergen, N.J., Panel 16W, Line 25

Photos of the men whose names will be added and whose statuses will be changed, as well as stories about their lives, are being collected from their loved ones to be used in the Education Center at The Wall, which is planned Washington, D.C. near the Lincoln and Vietnam Veterans Memorials. The Education Center will be an interactive learning facility that will teach the values, tell the stories and show the faces of those who served. It will also showcase the remembrances left in tribute at The Wall and celebrate the rich legacy of service in this country.

Left to right:
Shawna (hand on hip), Kylee S. (light blue shirt/red lanyard), Nicole (very front in light blue and glasses), Wyatt (far back in striped shirt), Kylee H. (black shirt and headband), Dakota (front, in purple hoodie), Janelle (back row, black shirt, no smile), Justice (black shirt in middle/long dark hair), Cole (light blue shirt/red hair), Sarah (back row, far right), Mikey (front row, white shirt)

But for a group of twelve seventh and eighth grade students in Steelville, Mo., the war, and those who fought it, is on their minds and on their desks for an hour each day. The students are working on two projects to honor Vietnam War-era veterans: the first is to build a monument in their honor.

The group is lead by Steelville Middle School teacher Jennifer Whitson. Two years ago, Whitson lead her students to fund raise and build a Korean War monument in Steelville. The granite monument was dedicated on Memorial Day in 2011.  She and the students hope to create a similar monument for Vietnam War-era veterans. The monument will cost upwards of $4,000. So far they have raised $693.

The second project is to collect all the photos of the men who died in the Vietnam War from the state of Missouri. The effort is part of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund’s Faces Never Forgotten campaign. The photos will be on display at the Education Center at The Wall in Washington, D.C.

“The kids have really gotten into looking for the photos,” Whitson said. “They have been stunned at finding so many who were only 19 years old when they were killed. This has been an eye-opener for them.”

One of the students was able to add a family photo to the project. Cole submitted the photo of his grandfather’s cousin to VVMF.

The students are getting creative when it comes to collecting photos: they are searching through obituaries in old newspapers and contacting people in their town who might have had a family member serve in Vietnam.

Left to right: Shannon, Cole, Shawna, Janelle, Mikey, Nicole, Justice, and Wyatt

Through this project, the students are learning so much about American history, Whitman said.

“They have never been exposed to the Vietnam War, more than from my tiny amount of time with them this semester,” Whitson said.

One student, Kylee, said she was surprised to learn how many service members died in airplane crashes during the war.

There are 1,411 men on The Wall who called Missouri home. VVMF has thus far collected 502 photographs. Finding the remaining 909 photos is certainly a daunting challenge. But when Whitson asked her class if they would complete the mission and find all the photos, the students confidently yelled, “Yes!”

Lueco Allen Jr. and other U.S. soldiers on a search-and-destroy patrol in Phuoc Tuy province, South Vietnam, June 1966.

Pfc. Lueco Allen Jr. is on a search and destroy patrol in the Phuoc Tuy province, South Vietnam. In the June heat, he has unbuttoned the top of his uniform. His comrades look down at their feet, trying to negotiate the difficult terrain with their supplies on their backs. Allen’s attention is called up. He locks his eyes on the camera for just a moment before walking away.

Allen looks out from that place, from that moment, on photocopies, newspapers, magazines and computer screens; he looks out from a poster for the Ohio Vietnam Veterans Commemoration. In 2013, the Ohio Department of Veterans Services worked with the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund to bring The Wall That Heals to Columbus.

The makers of the poster didn’t know that Allen was a native of Columbus. They didn’t even know his name; the photo’s caption just lists the men as U.S. soldiers.

“This picture seems to be everywhere as a representation of the Vietnam War,” said Joseph Henry, Ohio Department of Veterans Services staffer.

But Cousar knew the face immediately.

“It just stunned me,” Cousar said. “It was like he was jumping out at me.”

The two had gone to high school together and even the mothers and sisters of Cousar and Allen had been friends. Allen went to Vietnam first, while Cousar trained at an airbase in New Jersey. He remembers receiving a letter from home and a newspaper clipping with Allen’s photo; he thought Allen had received a medal and was happy for him.

“But then I started to read the story…I couldn’t accept it.”

Allen fell on Dec. 29, 1966.

It was the memory of Allen and a few other fallen friends that brought Cousar to The Wall That Heals in late March of 2013.

“I felt it was something I should do,” Cousar said. “I owed it to them to go.”

He was prepared to see the names on The Wall That Heals – but not to see his old friend’s face.

“A veteran walked up to our poster and started crying,” Henry said.

Bill Cousar

As soon as he saw the poster, Cousar knew who the lead soldier was. At the end of the event, the Ohio Department of Veterans Services gave him the poster as a keepsake. Cousar hasn’t yet decided where he will put the poster in his home. He says having the poster is a “welcome home” to Allen.

In Washington, D.C. the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund, the owners of The Wall That Heals, is working on a project to collect a photo for every name on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The photos will be displayed in the Education Center at The Wall to help future generations understand the context of the names on The Wall. VVMF did not have a photo for Allen until Cousar recognized his face.

“They’re not just names on a wall,” Cousar said. “It’s somebody’s brother, somebody’s husband, somebody’s father, somebody’s friend. These people belong to somebody.”

It is appropriate that the story of these childhood friends should begin and end in Columbus, Ohio. Separated by distance, war, and death, Cousar has found his friend, forever frozen in that moment in June 1966.

“I’m glad to have him back with me.”

Reblogged from Action Speaks-Voices of Operation Homefront:

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I’ve never been on a cruise. Or should I say, on a ship that wasn’t painted gray and called USS Lincoln.  But when I heard that Princess Cruises was launching their inaugural Cruise for a Cause, and that it would honor veterans and military members, AND that a portion of the sales would go to Operation Homefront and the…

Read more… 654 more words

Dick was born in a small, rural town in Thurston, Neb. and graduated from Wayne State University.  He joined the Iowa Air National Guard, 185th Tactical Fighter Squadron, serving until his unit was called up to serve in Phu Cat, Vietnam from 1968-1969, where he served as an aircraft Electrician.  He later started his career as a revenue agent with the Internal Revenue Service and retired in December 1999.  He was very active at his VFW Post 3115 in Wichita, Kan. and American Legion Post 256. He enjoyed putting on karaoke shows, serving on the House Committee, and maintaining the building to serve his fellow veterans.

This proud veteran had been contributing to VVMF since 1997. When he fell ill, he asked that a fund be established in his name with VVMF in order to help build the Education Center at The Wall. Many of his friends donated in his honor. Thankfully, Dick was able to visit The Wall in Washington, D.C. in 2005.

Dick is survived by his wife, Anita Frey; daughters, Shannon (Shane) Hooper of Wichita, Shelly (Scott) Madison of Lincoln, Neb., Nikkie Frey of Wichita and Rochelle (Todd) Higgins of Edmond, Okla.; grandchildren, Shelby, Shayden, Taylor and Morgan; mother, Edna Mae Frey of Thurston, Neb.; siblings, Mae (Art) Greve of Wayne, Neb., Robert (Judy) Frey of Hideaway, Texas and Beverly (Randy) Farmer of Grove, Okla.

Frey at The Wall in 2005

This year all of VVMF’s The Wall That Heals sites will be designated a commemorative events in partnership with the United States of America Vietnam War Commemoration, a national program conducted under the leadership of the Secretary of Defense to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War. The Department of Defense created a new display in The Wall That Heals’s information tent.

Thanks to our generous supporters, we were able to give the trailer a new updated look. The wrap around the trailer now features the faces of fallen service members and the Vietnam War Commemoration seal. Throughout the 2013 tour season, The Wall That Heals will be further renewed with the addition of new displays.

Join us as we travel the nation, visiting communities where we are invited and continuing to grow and improve along the way!

Click here to see the full 2013 schedule! 

My plane touched down in Vietnam on August 2, 1968. The blast of heat and the smell of jet fuel hit me first, then the sight of GIs with MI6s and bandoliers of ammunition slung across their strapping chests. The pilot ordered the two nurses out of the plane first.

After three days at the 90^th Replacement Battalion at Long Binh, I choppered to the 36^th Evacuation Hospital in Vung Tau, a seaside resort town about an hour’s drive from Saigon where U.S. soldiers often spent their in-country R & Rs.  As the door gunner locked his eyes on the ground I saw red crosses painted on Quonset hut-styled buildings.

My first day in the 60-bed unit was 105 degrees with no air-conditioning.  Not even on the burn ward. Only the OR, ICU and Recovery Room had this luxury. Huge floor fans chased around the fetid air.  For me it didn’t matter but it did for wounded GIs whose suffering was greatly compounded by the heat.  They deserved better.

I was used to seeing trauma in Minnesota. But there it was explicable; farm mishaps, auto accidents, drownings, and homicides.

In Vietnam, I was overwhelmed by the hundreds of our young soldiers, Vietnamese and Montagnard civilians who had been blown apart by heinous weapons of war. I hadn’t realized how much loving the soldiers would make me hate the war. I wanted to know what they were dying for.

Eddie Lee Evenson is the only patient whose name I remember from my year in Vietnam. Other nurses have told me that they, too, have that one name that symbolizes all the rest.

Eddie was mine.  He was from Thief River Falls, Minnesota. Angular and strong with a ready smile he endeared himself to the corpsman and nurses.  He came into the 36^th with relatively minor injuries; after loaded with antibiotics and a delayed primary closure of his wounds, he had his sutures removed and was sent back to his infantry unit.  In the meantime, helping us out relieved his high energy and boredom.

No job was too small for Eddie. He cheerfully emptied bedpans, took blood to the lab, and helped ambulate patients using crutches. Eddie was sweet and respectful, and felt like another brother to me. When he went back to the field, he made me promise to write to him.  We exchanged a few letters.

I was transferred to the 71^st Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku. It was there that the manila envelope arrived. Eddie was dead. Eddie was dead. Eddie was dead.  No.  Eddie was too good to die.  But the letter I sent him had not been opened.  The commanding officer sending me this news said the letter was found on his body.

Mail call was a precious time.  He hadn’t opened his mail yet.  Like the rest of us I knew he’d wait for the right time to open a letter and savor the words inside. I vowed to myself that I’d never get another message like this; I would never get as close to another soldier as I had to Eddie.

. . .

Forward to my first visit to The Wall:  the dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, November 11, 1982, and to a flashback that day.

It is an autumn morning in Washington, D.C.  A cool, dry breeze sweeps the Mall as I join a crowd that grows by the second and pushes me along the path.  Though people surround me, I feel alone. If there is sound, I am not hearing it.  If there is a feeling to this place, I am not experiencing it.  Not yet.  I am numb.

Ahead waits The Wall of black granite – carved with the names of more than 58,000 souls.  Though I know that it is The Wall that has brought me, summoned me, to this place, I still deny its power and meaning.

Diane Carlson Evans

Beneath my feet, grass sprouts in the spaces between the gray stones.  A woman walks in front of me, head down, wary of the uneven ground. Suddenly one of her spiked heels slips off the stones and into the soft grass.  The heel is trapped, and she stumbles. At her side, a bearded man in old army-issue boots, who himself is walking with a cane, moves awkwardly to steady her.  I watch the woman’s feet, and her shoe. I notice his cane and his boots.  But I cannot look up.  A kind of gravity pulls me along the path, down a slope, toward the black stone.

I stop when the granite plates loom before me, but still I cannot look up.  Instead I gaze at the sandals, tennis shoes, penny loafers, flats, and boots.  Some stop. Others turn a bit, and I know that some of the people around me are embracing.   I focus on the combat boots.  I feel dizzy.  Do I know the man in those boots?  How about the one to my left?  To my right?  Are any of them my patients who still live in my mind?

I feel the black granite near me and wish I could remember more names. Back then I only knew him by his last name or his first, or didn’t know it at all.  There were hundreds.  I have two in mind. Would I find them?  My heart races and I my stomach churns. I’m miserable in crowds.  There must be thousands of people here, yet I feel alone. I left my husband and kids at home; I went to Vietnam alone, and I’ll do this alone.

I wonder now about my own boots, my black leather combat boots.  They must still be in the attic on the farm.  Mother might have thrown them away.  Dad definitely wouldn’t have.

What had my parent’s experienced back on the farm in Minnesota when I was in Vietnam?   I know the rhythm of their comings and goings, but I don’t know what they felt. I had gone away, and come home, and we never really talked about it.  The same was true of my husband and children. They had never seen my uniform or boots, my medals, my photographs.  They had never seen me cry.

My boots, if they still existed, would be worn out, a relic of the past.  They would probably be caked with red dirt from the Pleiku highlands.  They would be stained with my last patient’s blood splattered on them. I would not think about that, but I wanted to look at them, hold them, and confirm that I actually wore them.  I had become so detached from that time that I often wondered, “Was I really there?” The boots could prove it.  I realized that I was obsessed with boots.  There were hundreds of them around me. Why weren’t these guys wearing regular shoes? Vietnam was 12 years ago.

I brought one thing with me to D.C.; my boonie hat, with patches from the 44th Medical Brigade, 71st Evacuation Hospital.  Finally I push it back on my forehead a little as I finally look up at The Wall, and find the names I came for — Eddie Lee Evenson, Panel 28 W, Line 17 and Sharon Lane, Panel 23W, Line 112.

As I touch Eddie’s name, a man wearing a tattered, faded field jacket gently places his hand on my shoulder, and turns to look directly at me.

“Were you a nurse in Vietnam?”

“Yes,” I admit.

“I’ve waited 14 years to say this to a nurse,” he continues. His voice wavers, and tears pool in his eyes.  “Thank you. I can never thank you enough. I love you. Thank you for being there.”  These simple words were the most powerful, profound words that I will ever remember.  They were precious words, to him and to me.  This wounded soldier had lived; he survived and he was grateful.

But there was one who didn’t live and I would never find his name to touch. I close my eyes; I’m with him now, standing at his bedside.  I move the blankets to find his hand; I draw it close to me. I hold it gently, I don’t let go.  I feel his youth.  I notice the contrast; a young black man holding my hand; I press gently asking him to do the same if he hears me.  He does. I move to his face, concealed by dressings, and speak softly to him.  The night is bleak. I tell him I’ll be there through the night – that I won’t leave.  I ask for God.  At the end, I leave him, never knowing his face – only the shroud and his touch, which belongs to me.  I am haunted by a black man I’ve never seen; sheathed in white.   Sheathed in white, covering the blast delicately swirled around his face, chest, arms, legs, all tinged with red I hold his hand while his blood turns cold. He gave me his hand and soul to hold that night.  I don’t remember his name.

I feel something break inside of me.  For the first time since Vietnam, I cry. I cry for Eddie, for Sharon, for the soldier embracing me, for the young black man who gave me his hand and his soul to treasure and because I cannot hold back a lifetime of tears any longer.

I had been terrified of crying, afraid that once I started I wouldn’t stop. Behind the tears was anger at the injustice, the futility, and the betrayals of war.  I finally had touched Eddie’s name as he had touched my life the day he was wounded, and Sharon’s.  She was killed in Chu Lai on June  8, 1969, while I went about my duties in Pleiku. Women do go off to war, and they may die there too.

The Vietnam veteran who embraced me that day near The Wall of names may never know that his act of love and kindness pressed me to begin embracing my own past.   I knew that my life would never be the same again. I must have lived for a reason.  There was something left, something yet that I had to do with my life.   In a spiritual and mysterious moment, Eddie and Sharon gave me permission to live, to feel and show emotion and see again the faces of war.  There would be a price for that. My battle with the Vietnam War was just beginning.

Diane Carlson Evans is the founder and president of the Vietnam Women’s Memorial Foundation. She served in the Army Nurse Corps, 1968-69,  in the Vung Tau and Pleiku provinces.