Remembering our heroes
Honoring the sacrifice on Memorial Day
Don't say "Happy Memorial Day."
The day isn't supposed to be happy. We aren't called to "celebrate," at least in a traditional sense.
You're supposed to reflect on the members of the military who died in action.
While a barbecue, light beer, and time on the water is great, that's also "summer." The Memorial Day holiday, coincidentally, serves as the unofficial start to summer.
The intention was that a day to memorialize the fallen should be a solemn one. The road to Hell is likewise paved with good intentions.
In the early days of the War, Confederate widows decorated the graves of the fallen Confederate and Union soldiers with flowers. Northern states adopted the practice soon after the War ended.
Memorializing those who fell in battle is probably a practice as old as war itself—so almost as old as time.
Here in America, the consensus day to commemorate—not celebrate—eventually landed in late May. In 1968, LBJ ensconced Memorial Day as a federal holiday. In 1971, the last Monday in May became the official day for observance.
Members of my family have literally fought for America since we were skirmishing with the Redcoats. Fighting the British is part of my family history I don't take lightly. Heritage America.
Yet I don't know of any direct ancestors who died in battle.
Nevertheless my family memorializes at least one hero.
Today, I remember my dad's cousin Richard J. Mallon Jr., an Air Force fighter pilot who flew more than 100 missions over two tours of duty in Vietnam. Rich was shot down in North Viet Nam on January 28, 1970.
For decades, this tragedy had huge ramifications in our family. My father talked about his cousin a lot when I was growing up.
While I never talked to my (now late) father specifically about it, I imagine that he considered his cousin as his #1 hero.
The sad thing was that we never knew his ultimate fate. Lost in a jungle.
M.I.A. — you bet I knew what those three letters meant. There was always a little hope.
Then, one day in 1988, the North Vietnamese government decided to return the remains of our cousin, and those of 37 other Americans, to the U.S. government. This "act of diplomacy" did not make what happened to my dad's cousin any less tragic. Probably to the contrary.
As one can probably imagine, I got properly sad over the last couple days, thinking about all this stuff.
I remembered Rich's funeral—pretty sure it was national news—that I attended with my large extended family, over 19 years after he was shot down.
I found the UPI article:
And I found more information on Capt. Mallon from the P.O.W. Network.
September 23, 1975 was given as the presumed date for Rich's death. What exactly happened?
Well, that is a horrible mental exercise that I choose not to think too much about.
God bless the memory of Captain Richard J. Mallon and of all of America's fallen.
As always,
Brian