"Dear Tommy,

So much has happened since we last talked. I was 16 and you were 20. I was in high school, concerned only with what I was going to wear or if my boyfriend was going to take me to a movie on Friday night. You, on the other hand, were on the other side of the world, fighting a war I didn't understand, in a country I'd never heard of before.

I understood you were in danger every minute and I was so frightened for you. I didn't understand why you and so many of our boys were over there--so far away-- fighting for "God knows what."

What was terrifying for me at such a young age, was that I didn't know what was going on. No one could explain it to me. No one appeared to have any answers.

Tommy, I want you to know that I understand much better now. After twenty years of confusion, anger and pain, I decided to start reading about the Vietnam War, the country and its people, for whom you sacrificed your life. After extensive research, I finally understand what went wrong. Guess what, Tommy--it wasn't your fault. The restrictions placed on you, the soldier, by our leaders of that time made victory impossible. The motives of these leaders remain a mystery. I do have my theories, unfortunately, they won't change the past or bring you back to us. The tragedy in Vietnam has at least changed the way America deals with the bad guys.

I understand the reason you felt you had to go--to do your patriotic duty for God and country. It was just so typical of you to take on the bullies of the world in defense of the underdog.

I've met some of your buddies from Vietnam, and, Tommy, let me tell you, they are all so wonderful. We now share the same unbreakable bond you combat warriors did back in Nam. Steve Allen and I, along with a handful of his rag-tag Marines are in the process of re- establishing the "Charley Two Frat". It is a unique club known only to Steve's men up to now, and I feel very fortunate to have been included. I now understand why you wanted to stay and protect them. ("re-up") I also think you felt "in country" was safer than our crazy world back home. At least you knew your platoon buddies cared for and respected you.

I know you didn't like Vietnam--the unbearable heat, the freezing cold of the Que Son Mountains, the constant unending wet of the monsoon which kept you soaked to the bone for days on end and the gut-wrenching fear of being shot at by the enemy.

Now I realize how much you suffered over there. I can't imagine what it must have been like to see your friends being killed or wounded. Having to go a month or more without taking a shower (something we all take for granted) could have been cause for desertion as far as I am concerned. Going several days at a time without food and cigarettes because the supply planes couldn't get to you must have been the "pits" and I heard you had to pack 100 pounds or more on your back for miles, and drink water that wasn't fit for farm animals.

Tommy, my imagination can't comprehend what it would have been like to have bombs go off next to me or have snipers around I couldn't see, or knowing that each step I took could be my last, for fear of stepping on a land mine. Hell, just the thought of camping out in a jungle for one night without so much as a flea, gives me nightmares, let alone the unbearable challenges you had to face. When Steve filled me in on the horrors you had to deal with everyday--deadly snakes (we're talking instant dead!), Texas-size mosquitos, foot-long centipedes, leaches, dysentery, malaria, and God knows what else, it gave me the shivers. I think I would have gone mad, yet, you endured these perils for months on end.

Thanks to you and thousands of other brave young men, I don't have to experience what you went through. Thanks to you and the others, my world is safe.

Knowing all you went through, I am surprised you never showed any bitterness in your letters. You accepted your duty to your country and never complained to us. One of your many gifts was the ability to make the best of any situation, but to do this in the face of death sets you apart from the average human and makes you even more special. I guess that must be a genetic trait inherent to all heroes.

Perhaps you became cynical--and who could blame you! The incompetence and lack of intelligence on the part of our political leadership must have sickened you. This, coupled with the apathy, disrespect and, sometimes, hate exhibited by some of the American public must have disgusted you. I know, because it had the same effect on me.

But, Tommy, I want you to know the negative image those Americans had toward the Vietnam vet is changing. The guilt America felt as a whole concerning the treatment of our Vietnam vets became obvious to me during Desert Storm. The reception the "new generation" soldiers received didn't make the Vietnam vet feel any better. In most cases it caused more anger and resentment, but it was a start toward understanding the suffering, frustration and pain our heroes of Vietnam have endured since their return to the "world". I don't think anyone really knows how to fix the mess we created due to our ignorance. Even today, we are still being manipulated by the "press" about what is actually going on in our world. I feel, or rather sense, that America has the desire to apologize for this monumental mistake and just doesn't know how to go about it.

I don't have the answers either, but I'm working on them. You and the other Vietnam vets deserve the Honor bestowed upon all Great Heroes, as well as our respect and our apology. You have mine!

I've always been proud to be your little sister and your service to our country has deepened that pride. I want to say "Thank You" for going to Vietnam to fight the bad guys and for teaching me to fight my own battles. "You were so eager to live and ever so young to die." Salute, big brother. I'm looking forward to the day when we can be together again.

I love you and I miss you.

 

Little Sis"

 

 

 

My brother, Clifton Thomas Smith, was a Cpl. in the USMC C2-1/7, otherwise known as "Suicide Charley". Tommy or "Smitty" as he was called by his buddies was a loyal and dedicated combat Marine. On February 12, 1970, his platoon was choppered in to aid in the rescue of their buddies of Bravo Company. Bravo was in a precarious predicament, as they were tightly pinned down by a highly proficient NVA sniper team. What made the situation even more grave, was that Bravo's position was dangerously close to the snipers, making an F-4 Phantom Jet napalm strike impossible because Bravo had no smoke grenades to mark themselves. Tommy, without regard for his own safety ran through "intense" enemy small-arms-fire, to place the smoke grenades as markers for Bravo. He was successful in marking the positions, saving "many" lives in the process. But, tragically for him , his family and friends, Tommy took a sniper's bullet in the chest. My brother Tommy was killed in action on a cold February afternoon on the Son Ly Ly river in the Que Son valley of Vietnam. He received the Bronze Star, Combat "V" for his action.

It's difficult to describe the dreams I've had since that fatal day. Over the years I have re-lived Tommy's unselfish act of heroism so many times in my mind. I put myself in his "combat boots" and I find myself in someone's shoes I don't feel capable of filling. I have tried to imagine, step by step, his last run through that open field, with bullets flying all around him, and it is scary as hell. This was a kid pulling a John Wayne or Rambo stunt, in real life! Audey Murphey would have been proud.

The following is an eyewitness account of the skirmish by one of his fellow Marines, Carl E. Chism, of Atkins, Arkansas...

"This is my account of what I remember of the events leading up to and the death of Corporal Clifton T. (Tommy) Smith.

Charlie Company was called in as a react force for Bravo Co. Bravo Co. had met with the enemy and suffered heavy casualties. Helicopters flew in and picked us up and flew us to Bravo Company's location.

When we arrived at Bravo's location, we expected a "hot" LZ, but the fighting was over. After helping load the dead and wounded on choppers, we started out on patrol. We had been on patrol for quite a while when we came to a river. The point elements of the patrol had crossed the river and were moving across open ground toward a tree line. The rest of the company was in the process of crossing the river.

When the point element had almost reached the tree line, the enemy opened up on them.

When the fighting started, a lot of us had not crossed the river yet. Capt. James D. Deere was wounded at the very beginning and another marine was badly hit. They were both close to where I was lying. We were also receiving sniper fire from the rear. I was facing that direction, away from the tree line where the heavy action was taking place. The sniper fire didn't last long.

A corpsman was tending to Capt. Deere and two other marines were trying to hold down the other wounded Marine. He was yelling and saying, 'I don't want to die.' He died a short time later.

There was a lot of confusion at the beginning, but it didn't take long for us to get organized. We were using heavy firepower on the tree line but the enemy had a point element pinned down, but good. We had called in for an air strike and the F4 phantoms were on the way.

The problem was that our men were pinned down so close to the tree line that we were afraid that the jets would drop napalm on them as well as the enemy in the tree line. Capt. Deere said we needed to mark their positions with smoke grenades and he hated to send anyone across the river.

Tommy was lying close to the Capt. He said, 'I'll go captain.' He then took off his PRC-25 along with his pack, grabbed some smoke grenades and crawled off toward the river. He did this so fast that Capt. Deere didn't have time to stop him or say anything, even if he had wanted to.

I'll never forget the look on Tommy's face. It was one of fear, excitement, and coolness all rolled into one. His eyes were as big as silver dollars as he turned and crawled off toward the river.

I didn't know it at the time, but it was the last time I would see Tommy Smith.

I didn't exactly see Tommy get shot. I was too busy at other chores. I know that Tommy would be alive today if he had not taken it upon himself to try and help his fellow Marines. He wasn't ordered to do what he did. But knowing him like I did, he'd do the same thing today. I've never known anyone so willing to give of himself so freely. He was so full of life and the most likeable guy I've ever known. I only knew him for three months, but in a combat environment, that's a long time.

I can't believe Tommy wasn't awarded the Silver Star for his actions at the river. He made the ultimate sacrifice for his fellow Marines and his country.

He was truly a hero that day. There are a lot of soldiers alive today who have the Silver Star. I'm sure they deserve it, but none more than Tommy does. What more can a man do for his fellow man, or his country?

This may sound like a script for a movie, but it isn't. It really happened.!!

 

Executed on December 31, 1991

Carl E.Chism"

 

 

You had to know Tommy to realize how special he was. Even as a baby he was good natured and happy. My mother always said he was her best baby. As he grew older, these good qualities only became more augmented. He was very popular in school, especially with the ladies. His blonde hair, blue eyes and easy, gentle smile was very magnetic to the opposite sex.

Tommy was a leader, not a follower. He maintained his strong but gentle nature unless he was crossed. Funny how no one ever crossed him twice. Tommy never started a fight. He wasn't a trouble-maker. However, he wouldn't tolerate a bully. You know the type. The insecure person who has to prove their worth by picking on the meek or less aggressive (of course they had to be smaller). Tommy was judge, jury and executioner of justice when it became necessary.

I remember once when I was a little girl coming home from elementary school, a pack of bullies ambushed me and gave me a real bad time. They scared the living daylights out of me, and, when I came home crying, Tommy and my other brother, Gary, were furious. I never found out exactly what happened to the bad guys, I just know I was never again hassled by anyone! Tommy was my hero even as a child.

Now, that you have met Tommy, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Brenda Woodland. My husband Fred and I, together with our three yellow labs, live in a small beach community on the Bolivar Peninsula, near Galveston, Texas. We would like to share with you a very special part of our lives.

My story takes me back in time to 1982 when our family received a letter from Captain Steve Allen of Newman, Illinois. We never realized just how important his letter would become or the role it would play in our future. The following are the contents of that letter:

"Dear Mr.and Mrs.Smith,

I sincerely hope that this letter does not cause you any undue hardship. Tommy or "Smitty", as we called him, was my radioman in Vietnam. I was his platoon commander for about four months from November 1969 through February 1970. We were very close to one another and I came to regard him with as much love and respect as I would a younger brother.

Tommy was the bravest and best combat Marine I ever knew. He helped me run the platoon and was invaluable in a combat situation. His quick thinking and bravery saved a number of marine lives o n various occasions. I wasn't with the platoon the night Tommy was killed because I had been transferred to the rear.

However, I later discovered that he was awarded the Bronze Star medal for his heroic actions. Other members of the platoon have since filled me in on what took place that night and I feel that "Smitty" should have been awarded the Silver Star for his part in that skirmish.

I have contacted U.S. Congressman, Dan Crane [R] Illinois, and he has agreed to help me in having the medal upgraded. I am looking for any and all information available to help me in my quest. If you have the award would you please be so kind as to forward a copy to me... I am referring to the Bronze Star Citation.

I will remember your son for the rest of my life. He was an exceptional person with an exceptional spirit. I feel certain that he is in the Lord's care.

I am sincerely regretful for any heartache this letter may bring in terms of negative memories. May God heal your pain.

 

Sincerely and loyally yours,

Steve Allen"

 

 

 

Our family was completely ripped apart by Tommy's death. For the past twelve years, none of us had dealt with our loss, neither individually or as a family. It is difficult to put into words the devastation our family experienced.

We were never able to discuss Tommy because frankly, it was just too painful. I suppose we felt not talking about it would make it not happen---not be real. There are no bootcamps for family members. We weren't prepared. The Marine Corps didn't train us to let him go. Anyone who has experienced the devastation of being informed of the loss of a loved one, either as an unexpected phone call from the police, informing you of the tragic death of a family member or that dreaded knock at the door informing you, your son or daughter has been killed in the "line of duty". Nothing can prepare a person for this. There are no months of illness which you know will come to an end--just the sudden knowledge of the circumstances surrounding his or her death, just that they were killed in action.

Fortunately for us, the two Marines who delivered the tragic news took extra special care and showed genuine compassion above and beyond the "call of duty". During the first critical hours after receiving the news of Tommy's death, those boys spent an inordinate amount of time with our family. As I reflect back to that horrible time, I realize what a thankless, difficult, yet heroic position they were put in. I believe the Marines have a term for this detail. But like Tommy, they did as they were instructed, no questions asked, with the same duty-bound Marine Corps dedication I have come to respect. Looking back, I appreciate their presence and the fact that it softened the blow or should I say, it was better than being left alone with a telegram. Their consideration and concern made the Marine Corps even more special to me. Twenty-two years later, we still consider ourselves family members of the "Corps" and I suppose we always will. The Marine Corps isn't something you can divorce yourself from or quit as you would a country club. The pride instilled in us through Tommy, is as strong as ever. Only someone related to the Corps will understand what I am talking about.

We all dealt with our loss in a negative manner in one way or another. Distance took the place of comforting one another, and anger and blame replaced love and understanding. Each of us suffered alone in our own world, with no idea how to help ourselves, much less each other. Grief is a selfish demon. At the end of my story, I will tell how our family performed an exorcism on this devilish character, a healing blueprint, so to speak.

Thus, when we received the letter from Steve Allen in 1982, it was like having a scalpel rip through our hearts, re-opening a very deep wound which had only healed superficially. Memories began spilling out, propelling us to February 12, 1970. It was not pleasant, but, at the same time, we were thrilled to finally hear from someone who knew him and could fill us in on Tommy's life in Vietnam and the details surrounding his death. We had never received the Bronze Star medal Steve mentioned. My parents had never been told that their son died a heroes death. I was filled with anger and disgust. Our guys in Washington had yet to find a cure for their incompetence and insensitivity. Why was I not surprised?!! I could have flushed our Government down the sewer at this point.

In spite of our pain we began writing our Congressman Ron Paul, and through his tireless efforts and those of Steve Allen, his Congressman, and my courageous mother and father, we received the Bronze Star Combat "V" for Tommy's efforts---twelve years posthumously. At that point, we did not feel emotionally strong enough to pursue the upgrade to Silver Star.

Steve Allen and I corresponded quite a few times after that, comforting each other with "Tommy tales", but I was still experiencing a very deep void. I couldn't understand why the feelings of grief were so strong or why I was still unable to resolve my brother's death. Over the next seven years, we virtually stopped corresponding and went on with our daily lives. However, our acquaintance was not to end here, nor does Tommy's story. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever guessed the events to follow would have such an impact on our family. These events would not only help us heal, but would also bring our family together again.

In February, 1990, upon observing the outpouring of patriotism shown for our Desert Storm soldiers, my own strong feelings for "Old Glory" were aroused. These feelings spurred me to raise a flag in honor of my country and my brother. Rather than buy a flag, I asked my parents if we could raise the flag the Marine Corps gave them at Tommy's funeral. With their permission granted, I began my search for the perfect flag pole.

A close friend referred me to Miles Chapman, a man whose reputation preceded him in the fine art of construction of unusual requests. He did not let us down. After explaining my needs, Mr. Chapman began his extensive search for the "perfect flag pole".

When Mr. Chapman appeared to be dragging his feet, which occurred from time to time, I would be forced to use my special motivational skills to spur him on. This effort, on my part, did not go unrewarded, for Mr. Chapman was true to his word.

Finally, one Sunday morning in June, he surprised us by arriving in a huge truck, hauling a 35-foot light pole. Mr.Chapman, with the technique of a fine artist, converted this "diamond in the rough", into the most impressive flagpole my husband and I, or, for that matter, our entire neighborhood had ever seen!

I decided to invite a few friends to the flag-raising ceremony. Appropriately, we chose the Fourth of July. This seemed to open up the possibility for a more festive atmosphere in the hopes that it would lighten any chances of a somber mood, because by now, my idea had gone from raising a flag in our back yard, to a combination party and memorial service for my brother. It was my desire and hope that this special day would, at long last, help our family to deal with Tommy's death and, at the same time, allow our friends and neighbors to share in our tribute to him.

When I say "deal", I mean it was high time for all of us to start living again emotionally. I felt Tommy would not be happy knowing we were still suffering his loss so deeply. This does not mean letting him go, we will never want or be able to do that. But the pain had, had a grip on us long after the statute of limitations for mourning had expired.

The response from the family to my idea was mixed with the exception of my father and my husband, who understood and supported me completely. My mother could not handle the idea at all and stated she was sorry but she would not be able to attend because it would be too emotionally upsetting. My brothers, Steve and Gary, were upset with me for what they considered dredging up old and painful memories. I assured them this was not my intention, but an excellent opportunity for some therapeutic healing for our family. As time went by, they began accepting my idea, if only to shut me up. I had not yet given up on my mother. I understood completely how she felt. I did not intend to force the very delicate issue, but I knew in my heart what I was doing was right, and I did not want her to miss this chance to heal and reunite our family.

A few weeks before the big day, I asked my father if he could convince my mother to change her mind about coming. Although they had been divorced for many years, they had remained friends and an emotional support to one another. He agreed and said he felt he might have some influence in the matter. She was in the process of moving from Tennessee to Louisiana, so the job of locating her was bleak.

Ironically, as I was replacing my telephone on the hook, my mother was calling my father to tell him she had arrived in Louisiana. This was an excellent opportunity for him to try to allay her fear about coming to the ceremony. He called me back about a half hour later and informed me, she very tearfully agreed to come. This was just one of the many miracles that occurred during the planning of the party, reminding me just who was really in charge here.

I was ecstatic knowing our whole family would be there to see Tommy's flag raised. After being wrapped up and put away in a closet for twenty-one years, I knew even the flag had to be happy to fly free as it was meant to be.

Knowing how my family felt did not make my next request an easy one. A counselor once told me, when his father died he wrote him a letter telling him all the things he wished he would have said but didn't. He then placed the letter in his father's coat pocket to be buried along with him. The counselor said it really helped him with the grieving process. Very reluctantly, I approached my father with this idea. At first he was skeptical. After explaining that the letters would be sealed and buried at the base of the flagpole, he agreed. As it turned out, my oldest brother Steve had already written a letter to Tommy which he wanted to read aloud at the memorial service. This act, I must say, surprised the heck out of me. My brother Gary was never able to write a letter because it was too painful for him.

Ideas for the ceremony began flooding my head day and night. Many friends contributed their ideas which, when compiled, would make this Fourth of July one that would be remembered forever by all who attended.

As the "big day" was drawing nearer I began inviting more and more friends, or better yet, they were inviting themselves. News of the upcoming event was spreading like wildfire in our small community. It seemed, those who had, at first, thought very little of my idea were having second thoughts, wishing to attend after all. Many were asking, "By the way, could we bring so-and-so?" The guest list exceeded 100, but we welcomed any and all who would come and enjoy the festive occasion.

As I was driving to work one morning, a wonderful idea came to me. Unknowingly, this idea would change our lives and the lives of many Marines forever.

My idea was to contact Steve Allen and invite him to the party. I was uncertain of what his reaction might be to hearing from me after so many years. I wrote him in spite of my fears and, as it turned out, I worried for nothing. Steve called me about a week after I wrote him. This was the first time we had communicated except through letters. We were both so excited, each kept interrupting the other. It was wonderful actually speaking to him.

He explained he had discussed coming to Texas with his wife, Dee. She not only agreed with the idea, but encouraged him to come because of his feelings for Tommy. I knew then I was going to love this unselfish and dear woman.

He was very apologetic because he would not be able to attend the memorial, due to a previous engagement. He would, however, be able to arrive on the fifth of July. I was very disappointed but luckily everything worked out fine as you will see.

Early on a friend suggested I get the Boy Scouts to raise the flag for us. I said, "Better yet, why not get the Marines to do it?" I felt they owed us that much. I rushed right home, and after many telephone calls, I finally reached Sergeant Major Behr, the Marine in charge of scheduling the Color Guard.

After a few weeks of eager anticipation I still had not heard from him. I took it upon myself to call, prepared to bug him to death if necessary. I had made up my mind. We had to have a United States Marine Corps Color Guard to raise Tommy's flag! I felt very strongly about this, and I was not going to take "No" for an answer.

Sergeant Major Behr, informed me, very apologetically, that they were booked for the Fourth of July. However, I wasn't the least bit put off. After just having spoken with Steve, I asked "How about the Fifth?" He said he wasn't sure but would check on it and get right back with me, which he did, and this time with an answer more to my liking. My reservation for a Color Guard was positively confirmed for the Fifth. I was so relieved, I cried!

These new and wonderful developments were very exciting. At this point, I had come to the conclusion, there was spiritual intervention taking place. It's difficult to explain, but I knew, and had long since stopped questioning it. These sudden turns of events placed the party in a whole new and different perspective for me. The attendance of the "Marines", young and not-so-young, cast a whole new light on the ceremony, making it much more important than I had originally thought it to be. They never admitted it, but I think my family felt the same way. This might have been about the time I noticed a change in their attitude.

I chose not to tell Steve about the change in dates because I wanted to surprise him. But, thought the better of it, and decided I had better tell him...especially since I planned to ask him to write a letter to Tommy and read it at the ceremony. I didn't think he would appreciate that kind of a surprise. After letting him know he would be at the flag-raising after all, he was ecstatic. He later wrote that he was having a difficult time concentrating on anything other than coming to Texas and meeting Tommy's family. I was forced to agree since I too, was having difficulty concentrating on anything other than the plans at hand.

I asked Steve if he had a list of the other Marines in the platoon. He told me he had a partial list which was 21 years old and most of the addresses were out-dated. He said many years earlier he had written to all his comrades, inviting them to the unveiling of the Vietnam Memorial "the wall", and had the disappointment of getting most of the letters returned marked "Undeliverable", or "Not At This address". I asked him to send me the list anyway, as I would try my best to locate as many as I could, although, at the time, I didn't have the faintest idea how to go about it.

I sensed disappointment in his voice and a strong desire to reunite with these men, and that was the driving force which motivated me to press on, each and every day and way possible.

The only way I felt I could locate these long-lost souls was to try to trace them through long distance information in each of the cities listed. Armed with my cordless telephone and a ream of paper, I proceeded to get down to the business of finding "Smitty" and Steve's buddies.

Out of the twenty-four names on the list, I was able to find several right away. There was such a feeling of excitement when I was lucky enough to actually locate even one person. It's hard to explain, but it resembles the jitters I used to get on Christmas morning, at first glance of Santa's visit.

My search for the guys was taking me all over the country and back again. Our phone bill was beginning to resemble the national debt. Lightheartedly, my husband Fred said we should frame our telephone bills and display them on the wall because they were worth at least as much as a Rembrandt or a Van Gogh.

My dedication to my cause was so all-consuming, it would have stressed any marriage. Fortunately for us, Fred never lost his wonderful sense of humor. I'm not sure there is another husband on this planet that would, or could, have endured all he went through during the months of planning. His loyalty and generosity proved just how strongly he believed in my cause. Fred never knew my brother. Since he never served in the military, he was unscathed by the Vietnam War, or any war for that matter. Therefore, I feel his understanding and complete support, speak volumes for his character. This revealed a side of him I had never seen before, causing me to fall even deeper in love with him.

Getting back to the search! Unfortunately for us, only one of the "platoon buddies" was able to come on such short notice. His name is Jerry Paine, Master Sergeant (Ret), of Cypress, California. The address I had for him was of his deceased stepfather. After many years, even with our incompetent Postal Service, the letter was forwarded to his mother's new address and she forwarded it on to Jerry. Was this a miracle or what?!!

It was very exciting to receive that first call. I will never forget that day. It was a week before the Fourth. I was in the throes of spring-cleaning when the phone rang and it was him. I was caught off-guard by his outward expression of emotion, but not surprised. I knew it would not be easy for these guys to be reminded of the past and I was mentally prepared to handle whatever all of us encountered.

Not only did Jerry know Tommy, he had been with him the day he was killed. Jerry, like Steve, had been very close to Tommy and loved him as we did. I am not sure anything other than his own demise would have kept Mr. Paine from coming to Texas on the Fourth of July. He told me he would quit his job if they would not give him the time off from work. This guy was serious! A couple of days after his first call, he called back and very tearfully told me this beautiful story.

He said, his mother sent him an artificial Christmas tree while stationed in Nam. Since their platoon was being sent to the "bush", he made the decision to leave the tree in the rear, rather than pack it on his back for the 6 or 7 weeks remaining before Christmas. He told me that Tommy said, "No way we are leaving that tree behind." Jerry said Tommy "humped" that tree on his back the whole time so the platoon would have a tree on Christmas day. I later relayed that story to Steve and he remembered it well. He said Tommy looked so funny with that tree sticking up over his head. My mother also found the story of the Christmas tree in one of Tommy's letters. It sounds so much like something he would do.

Jerry asked if we might plant a tree in our yard in memory of Tommy in conjunction with the flag raising ceremony.. I said "Of course! What kind of tree would you like?" He indicated it didn't matter to him and asked me to choose an appropriate tree.

After a little research, I chose a Live Oak, which seemed so appropriate for our purpose. Being one of the largest and strongest in the tree family, green year 'round, and non-deciduous (never sadly shedding its leaves), I felt in my heart the Live Oak would proudly represent Tommy's "Full-of-Life" spirit. There was much doubt as to whether an oak tree would survive in our salt-air environment but my mind was set and I would not bend on the issue. I had an unwavering conviction that "Tommy's Tree" would thrive, and thrive it does...one year later it's growing by leaps and bounds and is covered with thick green foliage.

Jerry, asked if he could wear his Dress Blue uniform. I thought it a great idea and responded with a resounding "Yes"! I called Steve Allen, and, asked if he would please wear his uniform as well. He told me he wasn't even sure he still had it, but promised to dig around in his attic, which he did. Unfortunately, the moths had, had it for lunch. My father and I tried to rent one, but were unable to. Steve opted to wear a blue suit. He couldn't locate his Captains Bars, but, luckily, Jerry was able to replace them with new ones. Captain Steve would be in a "sort-of" uniform, which was just fine with me. Actually, he could have come in a toe-sack and I would have been just as thrilled. I just wanted him there!

I also called Gary and made the same request. After Vietnam had ended, Gary joined the Corps----perhaps to find out what kind of mettle he was made of (fortunately for us all, there was no war). He told me he did not feel worthy to wear his uniform in the same company as Steve and Jerry, since he had never participated in combat. I understood where he was coming from, but, thought it nonsense, none-the-less. Therefore, I sicced the Marines on him, and assigned our father to the task, as well. Steve and Jerry followed orders like good little Marines, and my father, being an ex-Army man, did likewise. They called him that very evening and attacked with the force of a small army. Gary never knew what hit him. He didn't stand a chance against these guys and like any enemy facing defeat, succumbed to our demands. Gary's problem with his uniform was not moths. I believe his was what some may call a little paunch around the middle. Even though he wouldn't be in uniform, I was happy his feelings of inadequacy were addressed.

A short time before the Fourth, a friend told of a place which makes videos using photographs and includes background music. I loved the idea of having a video of Tommy's pictures, together with an appropriate song. I asked my mother to send all of Tommy's pictures, trying not to raise suspicion. I wanted this to be a surprise to my parents. Steve also sent several pictures of Tommy when they were in Nam, which made for a perfect ending to the video. The next step was to select a song that would do him justice. I listened to many songs and found nothing I was looking for until my hairdresser and good friend suggested a song which I felt did just that. The song was "You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings" by Bette Midler. The video was a beautiful tribute to Tommy and clearly one of the most precious gifts I could have ever given to my parents. Since then, we have located so many more pictures, it will have to be re-made. I am not exactly sure when or where it was that the idea popped into my head to have a plaque made, to be placed at the base of the flagpole. I am glad I followed through on the idea, because it was a nice touch. The plaque reads:

As the Fourth drew nearer, I began shopping for the "Big Day". I must have purchased every red, white, and blue decoration within a hundred-mile radius. I even tied a yellow ribbon 'round the new, "old oak tree".

A friend suggested that we make gift baskets for the visiting Marines and fill them with Texas souvenirs. I agreed, and the spree was on. We had more fun buying "Texas stuff". We filled the baskets many interesting gifts, which, we felt, fell under the heading of "Texas stuff".

Our Labs were all decked out with flag kerchiefs around their necks and I was even able to find an Uncle Sam windsock. Our house would be literally draped in patriotism.

This was a heartwarming and enlightening time for me. I had not realized I had so many generous friends until I began my endeavor. So many gave unselfishly of their time and energy and filled various other needs and demands. My brothers went all-out on fireworks, and many friends came to help with the decorations. The "Thank-You" list is endless.

By this time my mother had flown in from Louisiana, my brothers had arrived, and the big day was only hours away. The air was intense and electric. Volunteers were busy preparing the food. I had enlisted the services of a local bakery to prepare a 2-foot x 3-foot flag cake which was a masterpiece. Everything was shaping up and coming together beautifully.

As I observed the excitement of my family, a sense of relief came over me. This, after all, had been an inspiration of my making and hadn't been received very well at the onset. I realized the tremendous risk I was taking, because I had been on an emotional roller coaster for months, having very little escape from my feelings. I must have cried a bucket full of tears from February to July (being aware if things turned out negative, it would be my fault). My family's emotions were at stake. In my opinion it was a necessary gamble. At this point in our lives something needed to happen. We needed this miracle...this feeling of unity. My qualms were brief, replaced by the strong sense one feels when she knows what you're doing is positively, without a doubt, the right thing to do.

Alas! The "big day" finally arrived. It was a beautiful sunrise on that Friday, July 5th, 1991. I remember it well. It was very early in the morning. Gary and I were having coffee on the deck when, out of the blue, he said, "You know, we could stand a little rain to dampen the fields." I said, "Bite your tongue! Why on God's green Earth would you want it to rain on one of the most important days of my life?" Gary then said, "Calm down, little sister. We need the fields to be wet so the fireworks won't set off any grass fires." "I said "Oh" It wasn't ten minutes later, when the skies opened up and it started pouring down rain!. We couldn't believe it. Gary and I looked at each other and all we could do was shrug our shoulders. Then we looked up at the sky, half expecting to hear voices from above.

I was worried about putting out the decorations, as most of them were not waterproof; not to mention the fact that it could rain on our parade, which had taken six months to plan. As usual, my fears were short-lived. As quickly as these worries came over me, so did a strong feeling of confidence and peace and I knew everything would be OK. My Guardian Angel hadn't let me down yet. This was not a good time to start doubting his ability. Sure enough, about one-o'clock that afternoon, the rain stopped, the Sun came out and we could not have asked for a more picturesque summer day.

In the meantime, our place was literally humming with activity. My brothers, along with a dozen of our good-natured friends, were filling the helium balloons. It was free entertainment just to watch them. Several other volunteers were putting up the other decorations. I was amazed everything was coming together so smoothly. It was feverish to say the least, but it was taking shape. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves but I was afraid to ask. I was not the easiest person to get along with that afternoon. You might say I was a little "keyed-up". Some even had the audacity to call me names, if you can believe that.

My father arrived with the precious cargo; "My Marines"! Finally, the moment had come, and it was well worth the effort and the wait. They were as I envisioned them and more. The first comment out of their mouths was in unison: "My God! She even looks like Tommy!" That was the best compliment they could have paid me. I was embarrassed by their accolades, but loving every minute of it.

Together, Steve, Jerry and I placed the plaque on its new home at the base of the flagpole. We mounted the plaque on a beautiful slab of pink marble, donated by a local monument company, along with a jumbo red, white, blue and yellow ribbon. We then set up a flag-draped table near the flagpole, which displayed Tommy's Purple hearts, his Bronze Star medal, numerous Vietnamese medals, and picture albums. In the center of the table, we placed a very special photograph of Tommy, taken by Steve when they were in Vietnam. I mention this because it was such a haunting picture, depicting a clear image of a proud yet battle-worn Marine warrior.

Tommy was wrapped in a camouflage poncho liner and wore a cammo-bush-cover on his head. The background revealed the beautiful, lush, green mountains which Vietnam is famous for. What made the portrait so magnetic was his intensely expressive eyes. It was evident to all who viewed it, that even his pictures were able to capture the depth of his soul. A few weeks before the party, a very dear friend had surprised me by having it enlarged to 20" x 30", which only served to augment the effect.

I was surprised by the attention this table received from the children. I had no idea they would be so intrigued. It was a wonderful feeling, watching them as they gathered around, touching his things and looking at his pictures. I was moved by their innocent curiosity and genuine interest.

Guests began arriving from miles around, all decked out in patriotic attire. The Marine Corp Color Guard arrived promptly on schedule. Everything and everyone was in place.

I asked my brother, Steve, being the oldest sibling, if he would mind hosting the memorial portion of the party. Luckily for me, he agreed, as it was the only excuse I could produce on such short notice. It seemed fitting for him to play the role of leader, during, what was to be, one of the most difficult times in our lives. As it turned out, I'm glad I asked him. I was very proud of my brother that day. As host, he did a fine job of representing our family. I know of no one who could have done better.

Once I was certain all the guests had arrived, I took a deep breath and gave my brother the signal to begin. I had arranged chairs in a semi-circle around the flagpole, for the family, with a microphone in front. We had included chairs for Steve and Jerry but they elected to stand with the Color Guard. With the family seated, the guests in the background and our wonderful neighbor, June Young perched on our deck with her video camera rolling, Steve proceeded to introduce himself, claiming he had been chosen to "MC" because he was the best looking. After a few chuckles and the ice broken, he introduced Steve and Jerry and thanked them for coming such a great distance. After thanking the Color Guard and the guests, he proceeded to read his letter to Tommy. The following are the contents of that letter:

"Hi Tommy,

I guess I can still call you Tommy. What's it been...18-20 years? I don't know...maybe you would rather be called Tom. You are 41 years old now and I guess you might have outgrown Tommy. Anyway, we're here to pay tribute to you along with 58,000 other young men like you who left here in the sixties and seventies to go to Vietnam to fight for our country...I guess. I wish I knew, however, that's another story.

I just want you to know that I'm pissed that you were over there and then you never came back. Hey man, we've missed a lot together. Just think about it...think about all the beer we never drank; all the women we never chased; all the fish we never caught; all the lies we never told; and all the kids you never had.

I guess you could say I'm being a little selfish since you really had no control over the events, and history is history. I know all of that, but sometimes I just feel as if you left me all alone, I don't know why, and I wish you'd come back. I'm sure you're having more fun where you are and if I were in your shoes I wouldn't want to come back down here to put up with all of the hassles of every day life either, although sometimes it can really be pretty good.

Most of all I wanted to let you know that I love you. Still, after all these years, there's hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of you and remember you. It's so funny Tommy, but I can never remember anything bad. I know there must have been something?!

Well anyway, to the point, I know as kids that you and Gary kinda looked up to me. I guessed some of that was because I forced you to, but I want you to know that in my eyes, you are the hero...The very best ever. I've had to live with my own self doubt all these yea rs...the doubt that I could have never measured up to your bravery and your gallantry. I don't think I was made of the same metal as you. I think I would have been afraid. Since I was never tested, I don't know.

I will end with this Tommy...You command the highest respect that I've ever had for anyone and I'm still damn proud to be the brother of:

Corporal Clifton Thomas Smith, USMC Charley Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines

1st Marine Division

Born 11/21/49

Died 2/12/70"

After Steve finished his letter there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Steve stated in his letter, he wasn't made as the same mettle as Tommy. I strongly disagree! Anyone who puts their emotions and their pain on the line, in a public display, as he did, is a hero in my eyes. So there!!!

He then introduced Steve Allen to read his letter. The following are the contents of his letter:

"Dear "Smitty",

I'm writing this letter because I just imagine trying to keep from doing what your little sister wants, concerning this event in your honor, would be tougher than trying to stop a locomotive with a rubber band. I guess that bulldog tough stubborn streak you occasionally showed, surely must be a genetic trait. Really though, I think a better word for it is tenacity, and like Brenda, the times you were the most tenacious were when you were concerned about someone else.

You never cared much for bullies, and you were more than willing to help out the guy who needed help carrying his load. But then again, you also didn't have much use for slackers, and you were a great help to me in making sure we had only the people we could rely on, in our work as field Marines.

Part of your tenacity drew its strength from your highly developed sense of justice. You had an innocent perception of what was right and wrong, and your clarity on issues of right and wrong, good and bad were very similar to mine and were often important support in my resolve when making tough decisions. Your loyalty was unwavering and your friendship was an indispensable anchor in some very troubled waters. Your controlled, courageous demeanor in combat was a critical part of my sense of control within the platoon...the best platoon a man could ever dream of leading. Your natural intelligence and intuition, your military skills, and your ability to learn rapidly made you a natural for my sidekick and radioman. Your acceptance of me when I was green and still not wise of the ways of the bush was typical of the compassion that you often showed others.

That compassion was revealed not only in the way you treated your friends, but also in the way you shared your food and smiles with some very hungry and often sick Vietnamese villagers. When our Corpsman, our truly outstanding Marine Corpsman, would treat the villagers, you always seemed to be hovering around to see what you could do. You were such a fine young man...one of a number of truly exceptional young men put together in a special time in a unique situation that became a unit with an identity that brought out the best of camaraderie and teamwork.

One of the things I can close my eyes and see right now is your smile, a smile that was frequent and often came after pulling some kind of ornery stunt. You very rarely left any dull moments. I will always remember your laugh, an easy laugh that made everyone around you feel better.

I remember that you were very strong and that no one messed with you, especially when you set your jaw and stared straight ahead.

I remember you had eyes like a hawk. I always thought I had the best vision around until I ran into you. I had to use field glasses to see things you could see with the naked eye. You were a great shot.

I remember the only time I ever saw you drunk--you were funny as hell and only marginally safe to be around. We were at "stack arms" on China Beach and you and a couple of other guys invited me to come and party with the men. I was deeply honored. The rest of the Lieutenants and Staff NCO's had to stay and put up with the CO, the gunny and the rest of the CP "pogues". Man, did we have a ball. Talk about swilling beer and eating steaks, our guts had no bottoms. But it sure did screw up the old digestive system, didn't it?

I remember long talks, sharing dreams, memories and philosophies. I remember missing our family and friends.

You were incredibly brave. We certainly had a kick-ass platoon with a bunch of tough Marines. Anyone who couldn't hack our program was out of there within three weeks. You, "Smitty", were the toughest of the tough, the bravest of the brave. I appreciate the fact that you are responsible for my being alive and well today, and I have a wonderful family that are a part of your heritage. I can't tell you how much I suffered because of your death, and I feel that if I had been there that night, you would still be alive today. I hope you know that I went all the way to the battalion XO requesting to rejoin you guys in the bush. I hope you know that I requested permission to come out to the fight the night you guys were hit. If they had allowed me to chopper in I wouldn't have let you be John Wayne-- that is, if I could have held you back.

On the other hand, I know the reality is that you will never die, because a good spirit like yours lives on forever. It's just that when someone like you passes from this life, you leave behind a huge void. It's comforting to know you've got some great company around, like "Little Pineapple", Dobosz, and the others, but it still isn't easy on those of us left behind.

"Smitty", I still miss you. At times, you just pop into my mind and I feel like you're just checking up on me to make sure I'm O.K., and I'm O.K. I don't let my grief interfere with things much anymore, but you'll always be a part of my being. I couldn't have asked for a better friend or a more loyal Marine. We were as close as brothers, and for weeks on end, we were rarely more than a double arms length away from one another. Time is helping to heal my wounds, my faith in the Lord is my greatest strength, and my wife and family are the best. Once again, let me remind you that my family is part of your heritage, because I very likely would not be here if it weren't for you. And now I have found another set of allies, your family. What Brenda and Fred have done here is heroic in its own right. Your mom and dad and siblings have taken an extraordinary risk this week, and the love and courage they exhibit in pulling off this eminently deserved tribute goes far beyond the call of a family's duty. It answers instead the call of finding meaning in your brief, dynamic life, in the lives of those you touched, in the healing process.

Someday, my fine young Marine combat infantryman, we shall meet again. May God keep you and watch over all of us until then.

 

Semper Fidelis!

Your Lieutenant and Friend,

Steve Allen"

 

 

"My father chose not to read his letter but I would like to share it with you. I felt other fathers, and mothers too, for that matter, would, hopefully benefit from his experience.

The following is my dad's letter:

"Dear son,

 

A few lines to let you know how much has been missing in my life since you first joined the Corps. I think as a father, I came up a little short but I don't apologize for that. I am sure there have been a lot of fathers that were worse. I think most men have to follow their own star for however long their allotted time on Earth is. What your life here on Earth may have been is all conjecture but you sure showed a lot of promise.

You must have been a good Marine because two of your buddies are coming a long way to join in a tribute to you and your life here on Earth, all instigated by your little sister. She has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to honor your name and I can assure you that it is not going to be easy on me or your mother, but we shall survive.

Even though Friday the Fifth is supposed to lay you to rest you can be assured I will never forget you or all that you were to me. There is more that I could say, but I think a man can say too much in a letter like this.

So, until we meet again, I am your Loving Dad...."

 

 

 

I wish to thank my parents for the courage and strength they displayed during this most difficult time. I am very proud of them both. Understandably, with great reluctance, each wrote a letter to Tommy...I can only pray it has helped to ease their pain.

My brother Steve, made the decision to drive all the way to Monroe, Louisiana, our home town and where Tommy is buried, to place our letters at the base of his headstone

A week before the party, I contacted a friend who writes poetry, and, via "Ma Bell", described Tommy. The following, is her beautiful poem, which was read at the ceremony:

"Tommy Smith

He was my brother, he is my brother

When his country, our country called, he went

And there in far off Vietnam, his life blood was spent

Although people might question why,

and twenty is too young to die

I see loyalty and bravery shining through

Tommy's death for the red, white and blue

A boy went off, a boy went off to give his all

But a brave Marine, a man did fall

Just as one man is like no other

A medal cannot replace a brother

But Veterans of Vietnam need to know

We feel the love our country did not show

I don't know what a fire-fight is

I never felt the bullets whiz

Nor huddled behind some strange jungle tree

Praying the next round didn't get me

And never did I have to face such hell

Or see horrors so great I cannot tell

I'll never know the camaraderie

of a Bravo or Charlie Company

But I know courage and what it means

Courage is another word for a Marine

Those of us gathered here today

Can mourn the blue-eyed boy who went away

And we can celebrate the courage that did not lay

As with pride and love we raise the flag

This flag draped Tommy's final bed

When our Earthly good-by was sadly said

And now when "Old Glory" is seen by my eyes

I'll think of Tommy, one brave Marine

He was my brother

He is my brother

He is my hero."

After the poem, we all stood proudly to sing the National Anthem. At this time, Steve Allen presented Tommy's flag to the Color Guard. They looked so handsome in their "Dress Blues". Their exhibition was very impressive. Their show of professionalism and discipline reminded us, how very proud we were to be members of the "Marine Family".

Emotions were high as we watched them unfold and raise Tommy's Flag. Even now, as I write this, the tears flow down my cheeks, bringing back the memories of how very intense it was for my family and friends.

After the flag was raised and flying, my wonderful "MC" instructed the party to begin, which it did with a bang! The band began to play, Fred and Associates fired up the fish cooker, and the bar opened. I think everyone was ready for some comic relief at this point.

As the guests began to mingle, I worked my way over to the Color Guard to thank them for a job well done. Their discipline was remarkable. It was hotter than blue-blazes that day, and I knew they must have been miserable in their Dress Blue uniforms, yet they never complained.

I invited them to stay and join in the fun and fellowship. As I batted my eyes, added, would "y'all" mind staying to lower the flag as well? If they sensed they were being manipulated, they didn't show it.......much! They readily agreed, admitting they would be honored and were grateful to have been included in such a special event. Actually, I think the aroma of the fresh fish cooking was probably the determining factor, and not my batting eyes at all.

While talking with these young Marines, I noticed they seemed a little uncomfortable or perhaps ill-at-ease. I pulled Jerry off to the side, and asked if he had any clues. He said, one possibility could be his Master Sergeant uniform, since he had neglected to mention the fact that he was retired. I'm not always of a quick mind, but it didn't take a genius to recognize Jerry's game. The fact was, he was getting a kick out of intimidating these tender-footed Marines. I donned my motherly suit and suggested quite strongly, that he end his charade. I was not about to have those fine young Marines feeling awkward in my home. Regardless of my threats, later that evening I found out, (much to my embarrassment) that Jerry had enjoyed his "folly" a few more hours. The little imp didn't tell them he was retired until they were about to leave. Jerry must have taken prank lessons from Tommy, because it sounds just like him.

In the course of the evening, every man, woman, and child above infant age approached me, expressing how thrilled they were to have been included. Even those who had thought little of my idea at the onset, apologized, admitting how surprised they were at how wonderful and special it turned out. It's extremely difficult to convey what a good feeling it was seeing my vision unfold before my very eyes. The miracle of it all was it seemed my feelings of resolution and euphoria were being circulated by osmosis to everyone involved. We became as one, bonded together by our mutual feelings and emotions. What can I say, it was a great high!

I must take you back two weeks to explain the next miracle that took place. My brother-in-law, Jimmy Byrd, of Nederland, Texas, called and asked if he might bring a friend from work, Rick Rodgers, who was also from "Charley Company". I said "Sure thing, bring him along!" Regretfully, there was a glitch in his work schedule. Jimmy asked if we could accommodate his friend by changing the time of the ceremony. I replied that the Color Guard was on a schedule of their own, and with the problems I had acquiring them, I didn't dare ask them to change. However, this Marine would not miss this and was able to bribe someone to change with him.

Getting back to the party, I noticed Steve talking with a stranger and I joined them to introduce myself. As it turned out, the stranger was, Rick Rodgers. What I found out really blew me away. It just so happened Rick, Steve, and Jerry had been together in Nam!! I was overwhelmed to say the least! Our "platoon reunion" had just grown a member without any assistance from me. I mean "Beam me up Scotty"! I immediately stopped the party, introduced Rick to our guests, and handed the mike over to Steve. Steve then told us how Rick had been the "Dog Handler" in their platoon. He told of how one of Rick's dogs had almost taken off his head one night, and added that thanks to Rick, there would be no Purple Heart awarded. It was really neat watching those three together again, which gave me another wonderful idea. Why not have a reunion?!!...But I'll get to that later.

The party was going beautifully. It was a family reunion long in coming, the wait worth every minute. We were all aware of the miracles taking place. It was a magical time--a feeling of peace, fulfillment, and finally, resolution. I can't speak for everyone, but I can speak honestly when I say, Steve Allen and I were on a pink cloud. Even without communicating, we had an uncanny understanding of each other's feelings. I felt as if a part of Tommy had returned to us. This was the best gift God could have given our family. It made all the effort worthwhile.

The food, music, and fellowship were great. As the Sun "dropped over the yardarm", it was time to lower the flag. This was more emotional for me than raising it. Before, it was Steve who presented the flag to the Color Guard. This time Jerry presented it, appropriately, back to the waiting, caring arms of my courageous Mother and Father as I played Whitney Houston's "God Bless America". It was a moving experience.

After we regained our composure, Steve Allen, called a private family meeting. To our surprise, Steve had come bearing gifts. Unbeknown to us, during his tour in Nam, Tommy had worn a lucky charm around his neck. Steve said he never--ever took it off. However, the day of Steve's transfer out of the unit; Tommy, to prove his friendship and devotion, gave his precious icon to him. After cherishing and protecting it for 21 years, Steve brought it back to its family on a beautiful golden chain, and placed it around my neck. I knew it must have meant as much to him as it did to me, making it all the more valuable.

A few months later, to my astonishment, my aunt, recognized it, stating she was the person who gave the charm to Tommy. She said it had belonged to her father, my grandfather, who had given it to her just before he passed away. She told me Tommy had spotted it in her jewelry box and had shown such an interest in it, she decided to give it to him. Tommy was 15 years old at the time, making the good luck charm at least 26 years old. No one knows how long my grandfather had it but she said it was very worn when she gave it to my brother. In other words, it's pretty old, been around the world, and has now come full circle. Pretty neat, huh?

Steve then gave each of my brothers, one of his Lieutenants bars. While in Nam, Steve had, had his Poncho liner converted to a jacket, by a Vietnamese seamstress. They must think Americans have very long arms because they were about a foot too long. He gave this jacket to my father. He looked so funny in it.

As the day became night, I asked Gary to break out the fireworks. I asked Steve Allen to assist. I didn't realize I was teaming two crazy pyrotechnics to wreak total havoc. But I'm glad I did. I can't remember when I have had as much fun or laughed as hard at those two "children". The fireworks lasted about 45 minutes and I must say it was one of the most impressive displays I have ever witnessed.

After the fireworks display, all but a few close friends and family remained. We continued the party, well into the wee hours of the morning.

It is difficult to express the importance of the tribute to Tommy and the Vietnam vets. Equally important was for our family to have the opportunity to meet Steve.This experience taught me a great deal about myself. It's a pretty rewarding feeling to do a good thing. The reward for me was, I began to "find myself" ---to look deep within and for the first time in my life, I began to love my soul. I began to heal, finally, and I'm here to tell you it's a great feeling.

The next day, Fred took all the men fishing. I think Steve's first catch was an oyster, which, my brother Steve, promptly, ate for lunch.

Jerry was due to leave that Saturday afternoon. None of us, including Jerry, wanted him to leave so soon. I called the airlines to find out how much it would cost to change the ticket which was $569.00. I was not going to give up just because the airline was charging an absurd fee. I began a fund-raising campaign, soliciting donations from family, friends and anyone in-between. Miraculously, we were able to raise $550.00, allowing Jerry to stay an extra day.

That night, Steve gave a slide show of all his pictures of Vietnam. It was interesting to see the country which Tommy had fought and died for. I hadn't realized what a beautiful country it was. How sad it is, we humans have to destroy such natural beauty, not to mention each other.

The topic of upgrading Tommy's medal to Silver Star re- surfaced and, after a family discussion, we decided we were ready. We knew it wasn't going to be a piece of cake. However, we believed with conviction, that, Tommy's actions on the Son Ly Ly River deserved more than a Bronze Star. I knew if the medal was going to get upgraded, it would have to be initiated by me, my mother and Steve Allen. I knew we were ready now. Throughout the healing process we had gained the "tenacity", strength and determination, necessary to tackle such a tremendous challenge.

Since this had become a reunion of "sorts", I decided to call some of the other "buddies",who, for whatever reason, weren't able to attend. Steve and Jerry thought I was crazy, but I think they enjoyed talking with them.

After everyone had retired for the evening, Steve and I, had some time to talk. What we had, was a one-on-one feelings group. This was when I first began to feel the healing effects of our efforts. Sharing and expressing my anger and pain with someone who understood so completely, began the purging of it.

That Sunday couldn't have been more miserable. The sky was raining "domestic animals". With us living in "wetlands" (a wildlife preserve, surrounded by fields of tall salt-grass) Jerry said it reminded him so much of Vietnam , giving him an eerie feeling of "deja-vu". After having seen the slide show, I agreed.

The clock was running, and the time for Jerry to leave was fast approaching. Rain or no rain, it was time for Steve and Jerry to plant the oak tree. They looked so pitiful digging that hole and bailing buckets of water, in the pouring rain. But, being Marines, who, had once sloshed around in rice paddies, and lived through months of monsoon, I must say, they handled it like (experienced) good sports, "hardly ever" complaining.

I was feeling very motherly toward "Tommy's" tree. Therefore, I suppose I may have been a little demanding, while supervising the planting of the tree. What led me to this brainstorm of a revelation ? I guess it may have dawned on me, when, Master Sergeant Jerry Paine, proclaimed I would be nicknamed: "Sergeant Major Little Sister". I knew their teasing was "lighthearted" fun, and their way of adopting me into their fold. I'm not certain my acceptance was a factor in any case, because the title stuck, and I've been called SMaj ever since. I even had the plaque changed.

Together, Steve, Jerry, my dad, and my brother, Steve, planted "Tommy's tree", in our front yard, where, it now stands, proud and tall, wrapped with a permanent yellow ribbon. It was a touching tribute and a heartwarming occasion for us all, especially Jerry. If someone would have told me five years ago, we would be planting a tree in Tommy's honor, with his Platoon Commander and Platoon Sergeant doing the digging, I would have thought them crazy!!

The time had come for Jerry to leave, and we all said our tearful good-byes. We knew it wasn't forever though because, never again would we allow ourselves to drift apart. We had decided to get together at Christmas, and I was going to work harder at locating more of the men from their platoon. Fred and I were going to host the first "Suicide Charley" reunion of the "C" 2 1/7 (Vietnam)!

Steve didn't have to leave until Tuesday giving our family a little more time to visit. Steve's extended stay allowed us some much needed fellowship and bonding. Unfortunately, Tuesday did come and Steve was missing his family. Steve Smith elected to drive Steve Allen to the airport (somebody needs to change their name)! We said our good-byes, knowing in our hearts, it would not be long before we would be reunited, hopefully with his family as well. Our hopes were fulfilled sooner than we had expected. Steve called several days after he left, stating his entire family voted unanimously, to spend their Christmas vacation with us. I was so excited! I had to get busy, I had "C" 2 1/7 reunion to plan!!!

A few days after the guys were gone, while speaking with my sister-in-law, I mentioned our plans to upgrade Tommy's medal. She told me there was an article in the July, 15th issue of People magazine, which described a woman who had succeeded in acquiring the Silver Star for her husband ("killed in Nam"). Needless to say, I ran to the nearest magazine rack, purchased a copy, and after reading the article, decided to write the woman, c/o the magazine. I was concerned she may not receive it in the shuffle, and opted to call her. Luckily, her number was listed. We talked for at least forty-five minutes. She was very helpful. Her name is Brenda Reed of Oakland, California.

I wish to include a letter I received from a very special friend and neighbor, with whom you will become better acquainted later on in the story. This letter, I believe, expresses the feelings of many present at the "miracle".

"Dear Fred, Brenda and family,

 

I want to tell you that when you invited me to the Fourth of July flag-raising ceremony and fishfry, I thought it was a nice gesture of you to honor your heroic brother. Even though my husband had to work, I decided to come along (which I normally wouldn't do in a heartbeat). Your dad asked me if I'd take pictures of the actual ceremony since he was "in" the ceremony. I had no idea what to expect, but told him I'd be glad to "man" the camera. I'd only met him once, but I guess he remembered me as a friend of yours.

As the ceremony began, I realized it was much more of an "occasion" than I had thought it would be. When each of the family and friends read their individual letters, I had more than my share of trouble trying to focus the camera through tears rolling down my cheeks, not to mention the mascara smearing across my face. I knew I wasn't alone though, because there couldn't have been a dry eye in the place.

Brenda, I've never had anyone in my family in the wartime military, so I couldn't relate to your particular situation. However, after experiencing my dad's death several years ago, I can certainly appreciate your loss and the loss to your whole family. I don't guess I could do the same thing for my Dad. However, on a personal note, I found myself projecting, in my heart, that this was my tribute to him, since he was a great man and was MY HERO.

I don't mean to "carry on" but I do want you to know that what I expected and what I got were two different things. When I told my husband, Gil, what the evening was like, he said he wished he could have been there because he had been in the military during the Vietnam era. He stated he had volunteered for active duty. Fortunately for us, he was never sent to that hell hole. His job was to prepare Naval aircraft to serve on carriers destined to Nam. At this time in history, the Navy's role in the "war" was marginal and due to the importance of Gil's duties, he was not called. In my opinion, I think he was disappointed because he wasn't there. Gil's a "good ole" country boy, from grass-roots America, and I know he wanted to serve his country the best way he could. However, I don't think Gil realized what an important role the "Stateside" military played in the war.

After rambling on, Brenda, I now thank you, Fred and your family for the fun, fellowship, and moving memorial service for Tommy. I feel as though I know him, and love and respect him as you all do. Y'all did such a super job and I know that all who were a witness to this auspicious occasion share in my honor of being invited.

To quote Bob Hope,"Thanks For the Memories".

Fondly,

Daisy Prinz"

 

 

 

 

 

 

TO COME:

PART II THE REUNION OF "SUICIDE CHARLEY"

PART III LETTERS FROM NAM

PART IV SILVER STAR?

PART V CONCLUSION