One Lone Vet

By Robert Smith, NAFSReman

On a chilly October morning we gathered outside for the ceremony. We all knew why we
were there. We all knew what was involved. We were told well in advance.
We came from throughout the Midwest, some from even further. We were veterans of the
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard. Veterans of the current Middle
Eastern wars, Operation Desert Storm, Vietnam, Korea, and even one World War II
veteran was included in our ranks. Some of us were peacetime veterans, and some with
no direct military affiliation; members of their Locals Veterans Committee who serve
those of us who have served.
Together we gathered outside for the ceremony. We all knew why we were there. We all
knew what was involved. We were told well in advance.
We were at Black Lake, the UAW Family Education Center in Onaway, Michigan for the
2015 National Veterans Conference. It was Wednesday morning, just before noon. We
had spent the last two and a half days taking workshops and sitting through lectures and
speeches concerning veterans issues. And a lot of it was hard to listen to. Ltc. Don
Digger Odell told us of his brutal experience as a Prisoner of War in Vietnam. As
heartbreaking as his story was, it became so much worse a day later when we learned
about the ongoing battle to acknowledge that many of our missing soldiers are actually
still POWs, and how our elected officials have been consistently on the wrong side of this
battle. We learned about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how hard it is for a veteran
to be diagnosed with it, much less treated for it. And we learned how the number of
veterans from the War on Terror lost to suicide is close to overtaking the number of
servicemen and servicewomen lost in the line of duty.
For two and a half days we were bombarded with this and more, and now we gathered
outside for the ceremony. We all knew why we were there. We all knew what was
involved. We were told well in advance.
We gathered outside the 300 building at the flagpole for the Memorial Service, so that we
may honor those troops who never made it home. We all stood quietly saluting as the
Color Guard raised both the American flag and the POW/MIA banner up the pole, and
then lowered both to half-staff as Taps played. When the flags were anchored at the halfstaff position they fired off three shots from the canon.
We all knew why we were there. We all knew what was involved. We were told well in
advance.
And yet when the first shot was fired I saw one man jump and nearly dive for cover. I
didnt get his name, but his age and the patches on his denim jacket clearly identified him
as a Vietnam Veteran. He stopped short of throwing himself to the ground. He quickly
composed himself somewhat and walked, albeit briskly, away from the crowd and into

the lobby of the 300 building. I got a glimpse of his eyes as he walked past me, and saw
the barely restrained panic. A moment or two later I saw him back outside with us, but
remaining under the awning with a clear path back to the door. He stayed while the
ceremony wrapped and then, as the rest of us joined with our Locals or new friends
whom we had met at Black Lake, I saw him walk away alone.
We learned about some good things that week, too. We learned of organizations such as
H.E.R.O.E.S. Care and Operation Injured Troops, both of whom exist to help our nations
veterans in their own ways. We learned how we Veterans Committee members could help
veterans to better navigate the V.A. systems and get what they need from the V.A.
hospitals. We heard from Maurice Pops Alexander, our WWII vet who always likes to
tell the more upbeat stories. He also strongly endorsed O.I.S., which helps disabled vets
to enjoy the outdoor activities they had always loved before they were injured. The week
mercifully finished on a positive note.
But for me the conference was capped off on Wednesday morning at the Memorial
Ceremony. We were there to honor those troops who never made it home, and yet with
one look at that Vietnam Veterans eyes as he hurried past me I knew the real truth of
everything we were at Black Lake that week to learn: those troops who never made it
home includes many who were gathered at the flagpole that morning. Just because a
soldier steps off a plane, hugs his or her mom, and leaves the post with his or her spouse
does not mean that the soldier truly made it home. In a very real way they are still in
Iraq or Vietnam or Korea. Their marriages fall apart and they float from job to job, and
sometimes end up on the street, because they are not able to build or maintain emotional
attachments. They are too busy staying on high alert, waiting for the next ambush. They
have physically been stateside for years, even decades, and yet home is still a place
they are hoping to someday return to.
We are all thankful to our veterans for fighting for our freedom, thankful for the sacrifices
they have made, and especially thankful to those who never made it home. But those
words no longer hold the same meaning for me. From now on when I hear the words
those who never made it home, I will be thinking of that one lone vet walking silently
away from the crowd.