Memorial Day

Thanks for my service

"Come on, Sprankle!"
Spec Caucutt entered my barracks room at the Presidio of San Francisco's Defense Language Institute. It was an old hospital which had been converted to a school for young soldiers. 

"Where are we going?" I asked, as all good soldiers do when given a directive from one with higher rank.

A Prayer Breakfast

Jon Jon had somehow gotten permission for us to weasel out of company business to go to breakfast, of all things. I was 19, and I was hungry. We hopped in his infamous bug and drove to some fancy chow hall full of high ranking officers, upper enlisted, and sycophants and found a seat at a table toward the back. Midway through the meal Jon Jon got up and split. Then the chaplain came out and said some words, and a Colonel introduced a General who said some nice memorial day words. Then everyone stood and the Chaplain led a prayer. I couldn't see what was happening next but figured out when I heard the guitar.  Spc Caucutt turned this into a gig. 

"Got a name of a friend

on a black granite wall in DC

They say that he died

to keep my country free 

Fifty-seven thousand, nine hundred and twenty nine

and one of them was a dear old friend of mine "

I guess more names have been added since he wrote the song. It is a lovely tune, and quite touching. I hear it in what's left of my mind all the time. That guy was very talented, and after he played, he came back and handed me his guitar. "Hold this a second" 

"Why? Where are you going?" I asked, trying to maintain highest standards as a soldier and keep my military bearing straight. As I was.

"Be right back," he answered and went off with a Captain to see the Colonel and be introduced to the General or something like that.

So I waited.

1. I will guard everything within the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved.

2. I will obey my special orders and perform all of my duties in a military manner.

3. I will report violations of my special orders, emergencies, and anything not covered in my instructions to the commander of the relief.

And while I waited people who were obviously in the back, and also couldn't see, started walking by me holding the guitar and saying, "Good job!"

"Thank you, sir, but it wasn't me. It was..." but they were gone.

"Nice song, son!" an officer said, looking me in the eye and shaking my hand, but hearing not a word.

"Well, sir. Actually that was Spec Caucutt," but he was gone.  

And there I stood holding that guitar, and there they came, one after another to tell me what a good job I had done. And there I was, unable to communicate anything other than, 
"Thank you" 

Columbia SC 5 Points Vietnam Memorial