a vignette, as if on reconnaissance
mission. Below it was a part of a
Huey with broken rotors and partial-
ly submerged in fake swamp muck.
Gary was disappointed. The sin-
gle display tucked away lacked im-
pact compared to other displays. It
seemed too simple for a dangerous
treetop flyer. It’s hard to say what
display might convey an emotional
impact worthy of the lives sacrificed.
But, this wasn’t it for Gary.
Next to the display was a Vietnam
War Memorial exhibit, a dark wall
inscribed with the 4,347 names of
pilots, co-pilots, crew chiefs, crew
members, door gunners and medics
who died of aviation-related injuries.
There Gary touched and was touched
by the names of four men in his troop
who lost their lives on missions in the
fall of 1972.
On October 26, while Dexter B.
Florence and Keven Z. Goodno were
attempting to capture an NVA flag in
Quang Nam province, a Claymore
mine detonated leaving them with fa-
tal injuries. Less than two weeks later
on November 5, a command-detonat-
ed mine killed Joseph F. Denardo and
Steven L. Taylor in Quai Nang Prov-
ince.
The static display took on new
meaning as Gary shared his stories of
drinking rum and Coke with Goodno
on the Saturday before the young
man died in his low-flying OH-6. To-
day, some of the young men would
have been too young to buy beer. It
all seems so distant and official, but
some of these guys were just kids, the
age of my oldest son, flying helicop-
TRAVERSE 62
ters and offering their lives for a mis-
sion.
My perspective shifted. I under-
stood why Gary wants to see the
OH-6 occupy visual space that push-
es it into emotional space. Thinking
about a 19-year-old Gary or my teen-
age sons being in those choppers
made me shiver. I hurried back into
the Alabama sunshine.
Paris Wolfe is a writer of note hav-
ing won a number of awards. Paris
loves listening to the stories of others
and passing on her own interesting
tales of travel. Her other works can
be found at -
www.pariswolfe.wordpress.com