Moving wall stirs memories of Vietnam War
Gary Salanitro is a lone figure gliding over the ice. This frozen sump, a common part of growing up in this 1960s Long Island, N.Y. suburb, is a giant man-made hole collecting rainwater for replenishing drinking water. The surrounding chain link fence never stopped kids from getting in. In winter, the frozen sump water served as the local ice skating rink.
I have a single memory of that winter night at the sump. Heading home, I climb up the steep sides to the top near a hole in the chain link fence. Stopping for a moment, I turn and look down on the ice. One street lamp provides some lighting, but mostly the sump sides and the ice are cast in black shadows.
Only Gary, the solitary skater, moves gracefully across the lighted ice, disappearing in the shadows, turning, and skating back into the light, over and over. I turn, skates in hand, and walk home.
This is one of my memories of living during the Vietnam War. When my older brother, Craig, told me Gary had been killed in Vietnam — I thought of the skates, the shadows, and the ice.
I also remember standing with my father, Chet Fish, near the windows at New York’s JFK Airport terminal where we watched a silver commercial airliner with Craig on board, lifting up at a sharp angle off the runway and into the sky. Craig was a 19-year-old soldier drafted for two years to fight with the U.S. Army’s 1st Cavalry Division in Vietnam and Cambodia. Craig is my father’s first-born and oldest son. My dad, himself a World War II U.S. Navy veteran, choked back his sorrow. With Craig’s plane out of sight, Dad said to me, his son who had not been drafted into the Army, “Well, you have two extra years. Let’s see what you do with them.”
That’s another strong Vietnam memory. Here are more.
Craig opted to stay in Vietnam an extra six months, serving a total of 18 months. He said he could have stayed there one year and serve his last year stateside. Serving six extra months in combat meant when — and if — Craig returned home, he would immediately be honorably discharged.
I was in high school living with my mom, dad, two sisters, and younger brother. During 1969-70 our house was immersed in war news. My mother, I think, taped a Vietnam map on the side of the gray four-drawer metal filing cabinet in our den. Every time one of Craig’s letters arrived, always handwritten on thin paper full of red smudges of Vietnam soil, mom and dad would pinpoint Craig’s location on their map.
Honesty was Craig’s letter-writing policy. That meant his letters often worried, and made sad, our parents. Talking years later with Craig about his letters, he said, “I wanted mom and dad to know exactly what I was doing. This way, if something happened to me, if I was killed, it wouldn’t be a total surprise.”
May 11-15 the Vietnam Moving Wall memorial is at Bud Elms Field, Zions Hill Road in Dexter. You should take your family and go. The Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., and its half-size replica, the moving wall — with the names of 58,315 Vietnam veterans who didn’t come home, who didn’t get to be old guys — is always, for me and others, an emotional experience.
Gary Salanitro’s name is on the wall. He was a helicopter pilot who was killed in action on June 18, 1969.
Yes, the wall brings back memories, and is a powerful reminder of how blessed and grateful I am to be alive in a free America, making the best of my extra two years.
Scott K. Fish has served as a communications staffer for Maine Senate and House Republican caucuses, and was communications director for Senate President Kevin Raye. He founded and edited AsMaineGoes.com and served as director of communications/public relations for Maine’s Department of Corrections until 2015. He is now using his communications skills to serve clients in the private sector.