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Four-Legged Sailors Defending Freedom
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(Adopted from a Civil War song by John McDermott, original author unknown)
My shipmate sleeps in his coat of Navy blue; In a watery grave at sea lies the heart that beat so true He sank faint and weary among the honored brave As we laid him sad and lonely into his watery grave
No more the bugle calls the weary one, Rest, noble spirit, In thy grave below! I’ll find you and know you, Among the good and true, When a robe of white is giv’n for the coat of Navy blue
He cried, give me water and just a little crumb, And my mother she will bless you thro’ all the years to come; Oh! tell my sweet sister, so gentle, good and true, That I’ll meet her up in heaven, in my coat of Navy blue.
No more the bugle calls the weary one, Rest, noble spirit, In thy grave below! I’ll find you and know you, Among the good and true, When a robe of white is giv’n for the coat of Navy blue
Long, long years have vanished, and though he comes no more, Yet my heart will startling beat with each footfall at my door; I gaze o’er the dock where he waved a last adieu, But no gallant lad I see, in his coat of Navy blue.
No more the bugle calls the weary one, Rest, noble spirit, In thy grave below! I’ll find you and know you, Among the good and true, When a robe of white is giv’n for your faded coat of blue
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Old Sailors
Old Sailors sit and chew the fat 'bout how things use to be,
of the things they've seen and places they've been,
when they ventured out to sea.
They remember friends from long ago and the times they had
back then, of the money they've spilled and the beer
they've swilled in their days as sailing men.
Their lives are lived in days gone by , with thoughts that forever last,
of Dixie cup hats and bell bottom blues, and the good times in their past.
They recall long nights with a moon so bright far out on a lonely sea,
and thoughts they had as youthful lads when their lives were unbridaled and free.
They know so well how their hearts would swell when the flag fluttered proud and free, and the stars and stripes made such beautiful sights as they plowed through an angry sea.
They talk of the bread Ole Cookie would bake and the shrill of the bo'sun's pipe, and how the salt spray fell like sparks out of hell when a storm struck in the night.
They remember mates already gone who forever hold a spot in the stories of old when sailors were bold and lubbers a pitiful lot.
They rode their ships through many a storm when the sea was showing its might, and the mighty waves might be digging their graves as they sailed on through the night.
They speak of nights in a bawdy house somewhere on a foreign shore, and the beer they'd downed as they gathered around cracking jokes with a busty whore.
Their sailing days are gone away, never more will they cross the brow, but they have no regrets for they know they've been blessed 'cause they honored their sacred vow.
Their numbers grow less with each passing day as their chits in this life are called, but they've nothing to lose for they've paid their dues and they'll sail with their shipmates again.
I've heared them say before getting underway that there is still some sailing to do, and they'll exclaim with a grin that their ship has come in,
and the Lord is commanding the crew.
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From the Other Side
At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up that "Black Granite Wall." Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and my Sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in front of this "Wall." Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a regular basis. It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier, but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that Vietnam war we were involved in have changed. I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learn something, and more "Walls" as this one, needn't be built.
Several members of my unit, and many that I did not recognize, have called me to The Wall by touching my name engraved upon it. The tears aren't necessary, but are hard even for me to hold back. Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers. This was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of The Wall. Touch The Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that we had. I have learn to put the bad memories aside and remember only the pleasant times that we had together. Tell our other Brothers out there to come and visit me, not to say Good- bye but to say Hello and be together again . . . even for a short time . . . and to ease that pain of loss that we all still share.
Today, an irresistible and loving call summons me to The Wall. As I approach, I can see an elderly lady ... and as I get closer, I recognize her---It's Momma! As much as I have looked forward to this day, I have also dreaded it, because I didn't know what reaction I would have.
Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard it must have been for her to come to this place, and my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past. There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her---My God!---he has to be my son! Look at him trying to be the man without a tear in his eye. I yearn to tell him how proud I am, seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.
Momma comes closer and touches The Wall, and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years. Dad has crossed to this side of The Wall, and through our touch, I try to convey to her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain. I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch The Wall and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand. All the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past flash between our touch and I tell her that . . . it's all right . . . carry on with your life and don't worry about me . . . . I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and a big burden has been lifted from her on wings of understanding.
I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past. My lucky charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO . . . a tattered and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew up as a child . . . and several medals that I had earned and were presented to my wife. One is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very proud of, and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal. I had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam and he had probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.
I can tell that they are preparing to leave, and I try to take a mental picture of them together, because I don't know when I will see them again. I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return, and can only thank them that I was not forgotten. My wife and Momma near The Wall for one final touch, and so many years of indecision, fear and sorrow are let go. As they turn to leave, I feel my tears that had not flowed for so many years, form as if dew drops on the other side of The Wall.
They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulders. My son suddenly stops and slowly returns. He stands straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute. Something draws him near The Wall and he puts his hand upon etched stone and touches my tears that had formed as dew drops on the face of The Wall . . . and I can tell that he senses my presence and the pride and love I have for him. He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try my best to reassure him that it's all right, and the tears do not make him any less of a man. As he moves back wiping the tears from his eyes, he silently mouths, "God Bless you, Dad . . . ."
God Bless, YOU, Son . . . we WILL meet someday, but in the meanwhile, go on your way . . there is no hurry . . . there is no hurry at all.
As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE there today, as loud as I can: THANK YOU FOR REMEMBERING..........THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING. . . . and as others on this side of The Wall join in, I notice that the U.S. Flag, Old Glory, that so proudly flies in front of us everyday, is flapping and standing proudly straight out in the wind from our gathering numbers this day. . . and we shout again, and . . . again . . . . . . and again . . .
THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!
THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!
THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!
THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!
Written by: APVNV Pat (Beanie) Camunes D/4/31 196th Lt. Inf. Bde Tay Ninh 12/66-4/67 Tam Ky 4/67-12/67
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