By Bill Spanos
I was living where I still reside today, in Arlington, Virginia, during my final Army assignment before retirement in 1985. As a result, I closely followed the planning, construction, and eventual dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in 1982 through local and national coverage.
The Wall evokes powerful emotions in all who visit—veterans, family members, and others alike—and each person responds in their own way, depending on their direct or indirect connection to the names engraved there. I attended the dedication from afar with my 12-year-old daughter. I couldn’t get close. At the time, I was not mentally ready.
I made a second attempt to visit the Wall in 1984, some time after the Three Servicemen statue had been erected nearby. It was a pleasant day, and I went early in the morning, when there were few visitors. I got as far as the statue and sat on a bench, hoping I could “get myself together” and continue on to the Wall itself. While sitting there, I noticed a middle-aged couple on a nearby bench, very emotional, trying to console one another. I assumed they had just come from the Wall and perhaps had a son, friend, or family member whose name was there. Shortly after they left, I departed as well—this time in tears—knowing that I still wasn’t ready.
I finally did go to the Wall in 2022, the 40th anniversary year, on Veterans Day. I responded to a call from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Foundation (VVMF) for volunteers to read names at the memorial. I submitted three names: an OCS classmate; a colleague from 3rd Infantry, The Old Guard; and a friend I had not seen since our teenage years. Some years earlier, I learned that he had been in Airborne training at the same time I was in Infantry OCS, across the street from one another at Fort Benning—neither of us aware of it at the time.
I arrived early for my scheduled reading time and met the other readers in the Welcome Tent. We introduced ourselves, shared coffee, talked about who we were—veterans, family members, and others—and received a brief orientation on the reading schedule. I was given three separate sheets of names, since each of the names I submitted appeared on a different page. Before my scheduled time, I spent a few quiet moments preparing myself to read the names slowly, clearly, and in a voice louder than normal. As I approached the podium, I glanced to my right at the Wall, doing my best not to “lose it.” Several people were seated in chairs in front of the podium. I took a deep breath, looked down at the page, and began reading, careful not to mispronounce the names—something I had practiced beforehand in the Welcome Tent.
When I finished, I returned to the Welcome Tent, where one of the people I had met earlier greeted me with a thumbs-up and said my reading was clear, concise, and well received. I was relieved that I had held myself together and prepared to say my farewells, but a member of the VVMF staff asked if I could stay longer to read additional names, as they were short on volunteers. I agreed and went on to read two more lists.
When I finally departed, I stopped at a bench along Constitution Avenue, across from the memorial, and spent some time reflecting on the experience. I still have not walked the full length of the Wall, but I expect that I will one day—very early in the morning, which for me is a more reflective time.
For many years before my time in the Army, I took a strong interest in current affairs through books, newspapers, and radio and television. I read Street Without Joy by Bernard B. Fall and other works to better understand events in Southeast Asia before I went to Vietnam. From my experience there—though limited to just two provinces, Phuoc Long and Binh Long, in III Corps—I believed even then that the conflict would be long and drawn out, with no truly good outcome. Since that time, suffice it to say, I am not a supporter of “forever wars.” For those whose names are on the Wall, I—and others who came home—lived the lives they should have had.
What was it all about, and to what end?
Postscript: The Three Names I Read
Michael E. Kraft, 1LT
B Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry
Killed in Action: April 8, 1967 — Binh Dinh Province
Vietnam Veterans Memorial: Panel 17E, Line 124
Michael and I were Infantry OCS classmates. He was from Evansville, Indiana. I’m from Chicago, so when we had free time (in OCS?), we often shared Midwest stories. After OCS, Michael, two other classmates, and I were assigned to the 1st Battalion, 3rd Infantry (The Old Guard) at Fort Myer, Virginia, where we served as platoon leaders in different companies. Michael was selected for Company E, the Honor Guard—Army drill team, Tomb Guards, and Fife and Drum.
During that time, Michael was married, and we saw each other regularly in daily duties and in both official and unofficial social settings. He was an outstanding officer and an even finer person. Michael went to Vietnam before I did. Over the years, I’ve responded to inquiries from students at the high school he attended who were working on veteran projects and wanted to connect with someone who knew him. In 2023, at Michael’s gravesite in Arlington National Cemetery I met his son—also named Michael—whom he never saw, and, a year later, his brother.
Several years ago, when Wreaths Across America began, I volunteered to place wreaths at gravesites in Arlington National Cemetery. I live about ten minutes from the cemetery, so I arrive very early and have been able to place a wreath myself at Michael’s grave—and at that of another Old Guard friend, John Young, nearby. I can never forget the day Michael was killed: April 8, 1967—the same day I was married here in Arlington, just before I departed for Vietnam.
John F. Young, CPT
D Company, 5th Special Forces
Killed in Action: January 16, 1968 — A-411, My Phuoc Tay, An Giang Province
Vietnam Veterans Memorial: Panel 34E, Line 61
John arrived at The Old Guard after I did and served as a platoon leader in Company C with me. He was a physically big man with a sense of humor that kept all of us platoon leaders going, especially after long days filled with funerals, retirement parades, wreath layings, training, constant uniform changes, and everything else the job demanded.
In late April 1967, we both left The Old Guard for Fort Bragg—me for MACV advisor duty and Vietnamese language training, John for Special Forces training. We stayed in touch during training, but once in Vietnam, we went separate ways. John left behind a wife and two young sons. In recent years, I learned that his wife lived in Colonial Beach, Virginia, not far south of here. Unfortunately, she passed away before I was able to connect with her.
Martin F. Schwick, PFC
B Company, 2nd Battalion, 12th Cavalry
Killed in Action: September 21, 1965
Vietnam Veterans Memorial: Panel 2E, Line 91
I knew Martin when I was thirteen to fifteen years old, living in a far southwest suburb of Chicago. My sister and I took accordion lessons from a music teacher who also led an accordion band—that’s where I met Martin. I don’t think he took the accordion very seriously; he was something of a class cut-up and had to be brought into line more than once each session.
Our fathers connected well—Depression kids, Greatest Generation veterans, highly skilled blue-collar tradesmen.
Once I became deeply involved in baseball and basketball in high school, along with after-school jobs, Martin and I lost touch. It was only through my father that I later learned Martin was in the Army at Fort Benning (7th Cavalry) at the same time I was finishing OCS. He arrived in Vietnam in mid-August 1965 and was killed a month later. From my research into B Company, 2nd Battalion, 12th Cavalry, I learned that Martin and his foxhole buddy were “cut-ups” all the way through basic training, AIT, and their time in Vietnam. If only I had known he was at Fort Benning at the same time I was.
