Names on a Wall

Like no other decade in history, growing up in the 1960's was a challenge. At the same time, the sixties were an era that shaped a generation as none other before it.

The assassinations of three men in the 1960's changed the entire world. Assassins abruptly and dramatically took President Kennedy, his brother Senator Robert Kennedy, and Dr. Martin Luther King, from us, all within five years of each other.

Their deaths, combined with the escalating violence in Vietnam, affected an entire generation more than any event in history. Everyone from that time has personal stories to tell. I, for one, am no different.

I grew up in Philadelphia, PA, and was in the third grade when the assassination of John Kennedy occurred. I was in my last year of elementary school when his brother, Bobby, and the Reverend King, also lost their lives to an assassin's bullet. Before my first year of high school, my brother, a member of the United States Marine Corps, went to Vietnam.

This was commonplace for most high school students then. Everyone either knew someone who was in Vietnam at some point, most of them family members or close relatives. One Catholic high school in the Olney section of Philadelphia where I grew up lost twenty-seven of its students to the Vietnam War.

Many of these young men lost their lives the year my eighth grade class went on a trip to Washington, DC, in 1969, fourteen years before the completion of the Vietnam Veterans Wall. It was also six years before the official end of the conflict in Vietnam for our US troops.

Although the war officially ended in 1975, it did not end for many who returned home. Vietnam Veterans came back to an ungrateful nation, many treating our returning war heroes as criminals. Moreover, there are those who died of injuries received in Vietnam, whose names do not appear on that slab of shiny, cold, black granite in Washington, DC.

Coupled with the memories of war, many Vietnam Veterans had a difficult time adjusting to life, as they knew it. For them, it could never be the same. For one man, a friend of my brother's, it was all too much for him to bear, and he took matters into his own hands.

Fred Bluminger, or 'Freddie Tree', as most people knew him, died because of his service to our country. However, he did not die from a physical injury he sustained in Vietnam and the black granite wall in DC does not bear his name. He died from the psychological and emotional toll the war had on him. He could not find peace within himself and he took his own life.

The wounds Fred Bluminger received during his time in Vietnam indirectly caused his death. The doctors could not repair the damage done to his legs and they were going to have to amputate them. For that reason, and I suspect, because of his memories of the Vietnam War, he felt suicide was the only way to relieve his anguish.

One of Freddie's classmates and friend, remembers him as a "great guy; very friendly". Some remember him for his trademark wiry hairstyle that resembled the branches of a tree, which earned him his nickname. I always thought the nickname 'tree' came about because of his height. I am short, so to me, Freddie was extremely tall. I did not find out until decades later, that he was nicknamed for his wiry hairdo. Others recall Freddie's sense of humor. I also remember his sense of humor. Unfortunately, at the time, I could not appreciate it.

Freddie and my brother knew each other from high school and Freddie's nickname for my brother was 'Fudd'. To Freddie, I would forever been known as 'little Fudd'. I believe it was partly because he never knew my real first name, and partly because he was a prankster.

A few years before Freddie went to Vietnam, I took public transportation to school. Freddie would be on that bus going to work, at the same time as I was, every morning. As soon as he saw me get on the bus, he would start calling me "Little Fudd'. He would say it in a high-pitched voice, repeatedly for the whole ride. I was only on the bus everyday for a mere ten minutes or so, but to me it felt like hours. Being fourteen, and surrounded by my peers, it was particularly embarrassing for me.

At the same time, however, I thought he was hilarious, and I tried hard not to laugh. I also tried not to look over at him, because I knew if I looked at him, or let on that I thought he was funny, he would be relentless. For me, at the time, it would have been funnier if he were doing it to someone else. I am so glad I have that memory of him.

On the morning Fred took his own life, he was in a car parked in a lot that was on my way to school. I do not know what his exact time of death was, but he may have been in his car as I walked past, on my way to school that morning. Freddie is one casualty of the Vietnam War not recognized as a name on the wall in DC.

Whatever your feelings may be on war, the Vietnam War, or any conflict America has been involved in, has no bearing on the giant black granite walls that stand as a memorial and tribute to a unique group of veterans in our country's history.

I returned to DC on Veterans Day in 1997. I saw many veterans there in uniform, at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. I watched as they reunited with old friends, and felt proud for having known them. I admired their courage and their strength as they scanned the wall looking for names of the men they remembered.

Many Vietnam Veterans said it was their first time visiting, as it was too painful for them, too many memories. I understood that they were reliving that time in their lives, while paying their respects to those who had died. They knew the horrors of war. They also knew what it was like to fight for freedom, and to lose so many for the cause.

Not being a veteran myself, I often wondered where the veterans drew the courage and stamina needed to fight a war. After seeing mothers and fathers at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, I realized that courage came from their parents.

I felt a presence as I walked the path leading up to the wall in DC, and I believe I sensed the spirit of the men whose names appear on that wall, and of the family members who visited them.

For me, the names on the wall represent that rare breed of fearless individuals who went when their country needed them, and were proud to do so. They were the essence of what it meant to be a true American hero.

My visit to the Vietnam Veterans Wall is an experience I will never forget, as I will never lose the memory of Fred Bluminger. I want to express my sincere gratitude to all Vietnam Veterans, and I want to say, "Thank you for serving and welcome home."