by Greg Garrison
5/26/2009
THAT MOMENT TAKEN AT THE FLOOD
The keynote, Memorial Day, 2009,
Crown Hill National Cemetery
Night in any forest is more than dark; if the vegetation is thick, if the temperature is hot, and if fear grips the throat like an invisible assassin, it is black, impenetrable and possessed of a kind of claustrophobic presence that can turn a man into a hysterical, irrational creature. History—and our friends who returned—tell us that the jungles of Vietnam were just such places, spots full of invisible death and terrifying closeness where the enemy moved without sound and struck with deadly effect from the blackness. It was from the bowels of such an abyss that a battalion of Vietcong came pouring into an artillery emplacement manned by a young Hoosier Private first class, later promoted to sergeant, Sammy L. Davis, 0200 the morning of the 18th of November, 1967.
What ensued was a period of mayhem and killing, jammed weapons and depleted ammo supplies, not to mention two separate over-charge incidents where Pfc. Davis found his 105mm Howitzer on top of him. His back was broken, his legs painfully injured. Sammy was in a fury. He killed enemy until the M60 machinegun was empty, discarded it for the closest M16 he could get his hands on, pouring fire into the thick darkness at an enemy now only 20 yards away. During a lull in the fierce fighting he discovered three comrades pinned down across the narrow river, wounded and facing the immediate prospect of being overrun and killed by the advancing force. He wanted to help, was determined to do so, but was in excruciating pain from his back and leg injuries. Add to that the absence of weapons and ammunition and the picture was dire indeed. And oh—did I mention that Sammy couldn’t swim?
He grabbed an air mattress and another M16, wading into the river and out to his fellow soldiers. Once beside them the attack resumed in all deadly earnest. Davis’ fury returned to the eternal distress of the enemy, again the artilleryman grabbing anything that would fire and anything that would shoot out of it, and he resumed driving the VC back away from his fallen men. The official citation accompanying his eventual award of the Medal of Honor sums it up:
Upon reaching the three wounded men, he stood upright and fired into the dense vegetation to prevent the Vietcong from advancing. While the most seriously wounded soldier was helped across the river, Pfc. Davis protected the 2 remaining casualties until he could pull them across the river to the
fire support base. Though suffering from painful wounds he refused medical attention, joining another howitzer battery crew which fired at the large Vietcong force until it broke contact and fled.
Ronald Eric Ray was company commander of A company, 2d battalion, 35th Infantry, Special Forces, La Drang Valley, Vietnam, on the 19th day of June, 1966, when one of his ambush patrols was trapped by an estimated 200 VC. Much like Sgt. Davis, the reality that his men were in harm’s way set off in him a furious sense of purpose that would drive him over—and through—any resistance that might get in his way. Two kilometers through mountainous terrain brought them to the aid of their patrol, but getting them out required the kind of individual heroism that is consistent with those who are accorded the Medal of Honor. He took out two separate automatic weapons emplacements alone, grenades and his own M16 dispatching a score of enemy. Then, upon returning to his men, he dove between his wounded men and an incoming grenade, shielding them with his body as the explosion inflicted terrible wounds to his legs and feet. Again, the words of the citation:
He immediately sustained additional wounds in his
legs from an enemy machinegun, but nevertheless
he silenced the emplacement with another grenade.
Although suffering great pain from his wounds,
Capt. Ray continued to direct his men, providing the
outstanding courage and leadership they vitally needed, and prevented their annihilation by successfully leading them
from their surrounded position. Only after assuring that his platoon was no longer in immediate danger did he allow himself to be evacuated for medial treatment.
In every discipline, at every level of human endeavor, from the corporate board room to combat, from T ball to game 7 , from Normandy to New York’s twin towers, there are those who, at those defining moments when destiny demands, possess something without which those around them cannot go on. Those who follow them cannot expect to succeed, and in that desperate flood of human extreme that is defined in the crucible of armed conflict, they perish, unless there arises from the fray that one—that only—that hero, whose courage, singular vision and lock-on-target focus can at once turn the tide and carry the day. Sadly, they so often pay for their vision and their valor with their lives, each time and always new objectives, changed priorities and exigencies pass by their sacrifices and the press of new objectives at least temporarily obscures their accomplishments.
We are assembled here today to stop, to rewind the tape, to remember—to celebrate—those men and women, those unique and chosen ones, those whose valor knew no limits, whose commitment to mission, whose pure selflessness toward their comrades set them apart. Not just in our eyes this Memorial Day, but in the eyes of Almighty God, whose passion and pure fire they carried, and whose righteousness clothed them in their every step, stroke, shot, move—plunge—into the abyss that faced them as soldiers of the Republic for which they stood. And as the echoes of their heroism reverberate in this hallowed place, we must embrace this stopped moment to see, to feel, to smell and to hold ever-close the truth of the American Soldier. For alone it has been he who has accomplished all by his—and now her—contribution, compassion, commitment and finally, sacrifice.
To know death is to see into the face of our fragile grasp on temporal existence. But to see life that flows from that death, availed, accomplished and finally perpetuated in liberty by what has been laid down by those who have gone before; such is the unique gift and inheritance of each American.
To know life is to embrace abundance and eternity; the Nazarene invited all to come to Him, especially those heavily laden, labored, in need of rest. But for those for whom we raise our soul’s voices today, rest has already come; theirs is now labor ended, concluded in accomplishment, clothed in the perfection of sacrifice and its promise of atonement. And while not possessed of the kind of passion that identified the Crucifixion, each soldier’s life bears that self-sameness with His pure and sacrificial life-gift that we rest our grief and assuage our sorrow at their passing, knowing that they embrace paradise with Him.
I am privileged to have met both of the men whose stories I earlier recounted; while Sgt. Davis I have known for several years now and count as friend, I only just met Captain Ray in the past few months. And in both men we see that extra circuit, that overdrive—again the word, FURY, that appears in those whose commitment and devotion has no limit. Photographer Tom Casilini and author Tim Wallis captured so much of the essence of our Medal of Honor recipients in their book, ORDINARY HEROES, and I read to you from the official citations they have set out. That near-invisible flicker of fire in the eye, a certain degree of innate dignity of carriage and posture, may not stand out at first, but it is there for those who observe.
But they are the first to declare who the real heroes are, as they would say; they, like returning warriors the world over, hold to the truism that none are so brave, and no contribution so perfect, as those for whom the battle was their end. A husband, father, brother, son, lover, friend no more; whether known or unknown, theirs is that ultimate gift. Retired Major Richard Winters, the real-life star of Stephen Ambrose’s work called Band of Brothers, recounts the question from a grandson and his response. “Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?” No son, I was not a hero, but I was privileged to serve with men who were.”
Throughout our lives we meet heroes, and if we pay attention, we can see the sense of duty and selfless love that flows quietly from so many Americans. Police officers and firefighters expose themselves to dangers that are hard to imagine for the rest of us, but also others whose employment casts no imperative on them to step into harm’s way for those around them. Again there is that furious moment when action is required and threats are real, whether man-made or the result of fire, falling, or simple acts of nature. But those who step into that flood separate themselves from the rest of mankind by their actions, actions like those of these brave souls we mourn today. For while Sgt. Davis and Captain Ray were blessed to survive the moment of their own sacrificial acts, these whose lives we have lost indeed gave what President Lincoln called “the last measure of devotion.”
My friends, I have seen enough death, up close and most recently very personal, to say to you all that I am no fan of it. The cold, the finality, the blunt end, have stared me in the face, faces of both strangers and my own beloved father, and I can tell you plainly, there is nothing about death that I find either romantic or intriguing. That said, of course it is only the end of that tiny portion of God’s cosmos, His plan and His perfect creation, that we can see through this dim mirror to which we are momentarily consigned. I close with words both immortal and intimately familiar to us all. Jesus, that Jewish carpenter whom I serve, said:
Greater love hath no man than this that he lay down his life for his friends. To the memory of all those we honor this day, and to those who always and perpetually mourn their passing, we would be reminded at this moment of the embrace accorded those who had well and truly invested the Master’s endowment in the Parable of the Talents. Seeing that they had risked, that they had striven, and that they had feared Him, theirs was His greatest praise.
WELL DONE, THOU GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT.
May God bless the United States of America.
|
«
Return to previous page
»
Send to a friend
|
|
Garrison
Monday-Friday, 9am-Noon
Call the studio: 239-9393
Toll-free: 1-800-571-WIBC
Mobile: #9393 (free on Verizon Wireless)
| GARRISON - VIEWPOINTS |
|
THAT MOMENT TAKEN AT THE FLOOD
The keynote, Memorial Day, 2009,
Crown Hill National Cemetery
Night in any forest is more than dark; if the ...
Read more→
|
|
He stood on stage (just about any stage will do) last weekend at Notre Dame, his statue-like poses variously presenting messiah, revival preacher and sage ...
Read more→
|
|
Time after time, opponent after opponent of our new president has discovered—usually to their mystifying surprise as far as I am concerned—that the guy is ...
Read more→
|
|
When the most ill-mannered personality in all of TV went after Mike Pence on the question of whether he “believed in” evolution, based on “scientific ...
Read more→
|
|
The most popular governor in at least a generation was at the podium of the Indiana House of Representatives; won the first time by about ...
Read more→
|
|