Our National “day” of Beer &
BBQ has rolled around again it seems .
When I was a Lad this weekend was knows
as “ Decoration Day “ and was a Sunday that we took to the road
to put flowers on the graves of family and folks we knew that had no
family able preform this solemn service of respect. From old west
Desperadoes to the consumptive Doctor who came out west for his
health , Children killed by mishap to Veterans who served our nation
. Stops were made at family plots hidden from the hustle and bustle
of modern times along with the long abandoned homesteads they came
from . Horse Thief to Housewife , if my Grandfather knew a grave
would not be attended to he considered it a duty to do what he could
in cleanup or repair where ( as often happened the cattle had gotten
into the plot ) weeds had blown/grown in or headstones had fallen ,
and leave a token of remembrance.
Some years Decoration Day lunch was
cold chicken , others it might be baloney sandwich but it was about
assured to be eaten on the tailgate setting in a rural community
cemetery or abandoned family plot while taking a break .
Time has moved on and changed , the
little community cemeteries have caretakers who do it for love and
a pittance now , and many of the homestead plots have been plowed
under . Nowadays we just decorate family graves for the most part
although this entails a little over 100 miles of driving one way to
do .
Today as I stood in the small National
Cemetery at Ft Lyon to lay flower on my dad's grave I looked across
the rows of marble markers , each with its small flag as stiff as
iron in the 40mph wind and again realized that this peaceful sward
, this quiet, sacred ground that is the final refuge of so many
warriors is only part of the story and obligation, after all to Memorialize is to
Remember .
You see Ft Lyon until 2001 was the V.A.
Hospital that was home to the Vets that made it back , but never
really came home. Shell Shock , PTSD , all manner of psychosis and
mental infirmity. If they were so broken and shattered that they
could not function in “ polite “ society this is where the V.A.
placed them . It had the lock wards for the chronically violent and
newly admitted . The fenced recreation yards , the armed V.A. Police
24 – 7 . All of this was needed. As the walking wounded would
progress , finding a chemical saturation that somewhat quieted the
voices , visions , or memories they would make the transition to
outpatient status , sometimes only with the lifelong aid of a halfway
house to make sure they were fed, bathed, and took their meds .
The local town of Las Animas was
pretty much a company town with Ft Lyon providing the majority of the
payroll directly or indirectly . Most of the town prayed for and with
“ the patents “ , a few preyed on them .
I Remember Dr. John Hester who was
also a Colonel in the Colorado National Guard and who quite possibly
cared too much , bringing his work home with him and worrying about
everyone on the ward , I was lucky to count him friend . I remember “
Tenie” Palamino who worked in the kitchen out there and would drop
plans at a moments notice to fill in a shift when things made the
schedule go pear shaped . I remember Debbie and Jerry Hegdgeland who
owned the local sub-shop and would spot a patent a meal or two till
his next check … and how many times they “ forgot “ to ever
present the bill . I remember the several good half way houses , and
the abuses of the bad ones over the years . But most of all I
remember the patents struggling to “ fit inn “ in town with
their Thorazine shuffle or Haldol list .
Walking Johnny had lost himself
somewhere between Seoul and Saigon , but sun , snow , or rain would
be on the street by 0700 crossing the tracks to the meager downtown
area , chain smoking as long as his stipend held out, bumming them
after , and visiting with missing , possibly dead friends only he
could see unless he could corner someone for a few moments of
conversation that always began by apologizing for being “ weird “
and ended when they had to leave because his schedule was pretty
flexible .
Peggy – Jim was two people , She
smoked , he hated it . He loved to dip his french frys in Mayo , she
couldn't stand the stuff . Name a topic and they would argue about it
seemingly passing the mouth and vocal cords back and forth . I never
knew the back story of this fella but never saw him when he didnt
have a cheerful smile for anyone who would interrupt his internal (
and external ) dialog .
Dave who came back from the indochina
games seemingly fairly normal for months at a time , enjoying life ,
his bike , and a fine collection of knives . Until he would again
find himself lost in the jungle , alone , afraid , and desperately
seeking friend of foe . He never hurt anyone and was a gentle sort of
man day to day , but it was too close too many times . His own
private hell was the fear of what he might do and strived so hard not
to .
“ James” Davis left his halfway
house on one Thanksgiving day , walked to Corkys Motel where he had
libation with a friend most of the day . As the party came to a
close he also beat said friend to death because he had drank the last sip of 4 roses whiskey, by curb-stomping his head
into the commode while he was bent over puking , then had repeated
relations with the corpse for the next 6 or so hours . His halfway
house took the payments for his care but seemed to fail to insure he
took his meds .
Damaged , Broken men seemingly without
family for the most part sent as far from the visibility of the
normal V.A. System as possible to live the best life they had left
away from any possibility of publicity or notice NIMBY indeed .
Many of the men spent the remainder of their lives in the small town
far from anywhere of note , doing the best they could to balance the
medication with actually living and feeling rather than existing in a
haze . Balancing being “ weird “ with just being present
sleepwalking through the days without the pain of noticing the looks
given them by the unknowing or uncaring .
In the downsize of the VA in 2001 the
Hospital was closed , and the patents moved out to who knows where?
Parceled here and there I suppose in small groups to continue as they
had here doing the best they could with the hand life had dealt .
Gone from local notice , but not
forgotten !
I Remember . I have time for that visit
, a cup of coffee , and a smoke you can bum while we talk . Not just
today , but anytime you see me you have more than paid for my notice
and compassion . You will not be forgotten , and I am proud to count
men among you as my friends.
This too is the price paid for our
freedom to have the Beer and BBQ weekend every year that kicks off
Summer . Its a high price to bear , and how much higher it must be to
pay it invisibly .
