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It’s a 4 hour drive back from Washington D.C to my home in Chesapeake, Virginia. It didn’t seem like that long of a return trip this year. My wife told me that I didn’t say two words the entire trip back. My mind was still playing the events of Veterans Day 2006. The drive to Washington seemed like an eternity, emptiness in the pit of my stomach, an anxiety of something that was missing and needed to be found. In September of 1972 as a plane captain with VF-74, I strapped Lt. Michael Rice into the seat of my F-4 Phantom. He left the deck of the USS America and ended up on the “Wall”, first panel to the left of center, midway up. I’ve been here before, in a sea of people but by myself. I found what was missing just walking to the “Wall”. I can’t call them strangers, because I know them all. There were handshakes and greetings from brothers and sisters that I just hadn’t met personally. Aside from the wrinkles around our eyes and the gray on our heads, we were all there looking for something, paying respects. I walked the “Wall” until I came to a shipmate wearing a USS Forrestal ball cap. There was no anxiety, no uneasy feelings, just an extended hand and a quick introduction. “Zip Delgado, VF-74, med-cruise, 1973-1974”. My wife turned to me and asked if I had ever met him before. Yes, he’s a sailor like me; we served onboard the Forrestal six years apart. We walked the same decks, waited in the same chow lines, listened to the familiar sounds of aircraft hitting the deck and dragging the #3 wire. My memories don’t have the same nightmares as his; I didn’t lose over a hundred of my shipmates. Those ghosts walked the decks when I was there and walk those desks still. My wife watched as we talked and watched as another shipmate, and then another and another joined our group. Graying old veterans with stories to tell and respects to pay to those on the “Wall” and to each other. A strong, firm handshake from Ken, a bear hug from Jack, like we had known each other for years. We have. Conversations taking place like we lived next door to each other. From the “Wall”, we went to Arlington to place flowers at the grave marker for Forrestal men. Very little conversation took place but volumes were said just by our being there together. Handshakes, a bear hug amongst brothers and we went our separate ways again. I know these men, I am them and they are me. How do I explain it any clearer? |

