I've had some requests for the speech I delivered during the wreath laying ceremony at the 2003 1/1reunion. I started writing it earlier this year after Fugi asked me to handle the coordination and content of the ceremony. It was my intent to have it read by someone other than myself, but it didn't work out that way. This would explain my attack of the nervous shakes during the reading. Also, those who were not there will have to picture in your mind a complete Marine Color Guard, a Marine bugler in dress blues who played taps, and a bag piper in full ceremonial costume who played Amazing Grace and the Marine Hymn. I'm getting the shakes again just thinking about it. Anyway, I'm pleased that it all went so well as we paid tribute to our lost brothers and I am happy and honored that the speech was meaningful to others. It was something I wanted to say to those who died in my place.

Here's the whole thing, as it was read on Friday 22 August 2003.
Semper Fi,
mickey

Ladies and gentleman, good morning and welcome. We gather here today to honor the fallen heroes of Vietnam. And in keeping with our spirit of reunion, we as a group are here to remember our lost comrades of the First Battalion, First Marine Regiment, First Marine Division. A unit that served with honor and distinction in the Republic of Vietnam from 1965 until 1971.

We have come to pay tribute to these individuals by presenting a wreath that symbolizes our deepest respect for those that made the ultimate sacrifice. I would ask now that any family members of these heroes, or family members of those in our Battalion who have passed away in the years since the war, please gather in front of the wreath and help escort it to the Wall.

There is an echo resounding from this place, across this broad land of ours. From this black granite sanctuary where heroes dwell. Over 58,000 young voices, now joined forever as one. Listen now, as they speak to us, from their side of the Wall.

This is our message, a hope and a prayer to all future generations, and especially to those who still mourn us today. Who knew us as we were, how we looked, how we sounded, and what was in our hearts. How we gave ourselves freely to the cause of human kind. In a time, as now, when causes were questioned, and loyalty was scarce. It is a message of love and a hope for understanding.

In a conflict that caused bitter conflict throughout our nation, we were the tools in the building of a kept promise. We were the ones who heeded the call of a slain young leader, who asked us to carry the bright torch of freedom to the far ends of the earth so that others around the world, if they chose, could enjoy freedom's grace.  To help people who wished to live without fear of persecution, torture and death,  just as our fathers before us had so proudly and so willingly done, and why future generations follow in our footsteps, dangerous as they may be, for the cause of humanity.

That was the purpose in our hearts, and although learned men and reluctant patriots called it wrong, we, the torch bearers, saw the right in it. We did not see beyond that duty. We were not allowed the luxury of hindsight, for we left too soon.

In years to come, the children of your children will gaze upon the reflection of this hallowed place. They will read our names and wonder what sort of men and women we were. We say to you now and always, we are you. We loathed suffering and injustice. We wanted the best for our loved ones and countrymen and fellow human beings. We wanted peace for all time, and above all, we wanted to return to the open arms of those who loved us.

But mourn us not, for we are still here. As long as there are those who remember our gift,  and come to this place to touch us and be with us. We will gaze back at you and look for understanding in your eyes. Then, you will go, and do all the things we cannot, because in our short time on earth we felt the threat of those freedoms being taken away from you. That is why we are here now, on our side of the Wall. That is how much you meant to us.


"Copyright 2003.  Michael G. Enochs All rights reserved.  No part of this document may be copied, faxed, electronically transmitted, or in any other manner duplicated without express written permission of the author.