Have you ever been to the Vietnam Memorial?

How did it make you feel?

I think it was one of the most intense experiences I've ever had. And I was only just barely 13.

It's so huge, but humble.

I was 14, and my parents took me to DC over spring break. That and Arlington National Cemetery are the two things that stand out most from that trip.

In fact, I was kind of dreading that I'd be "bored." Where's all the fun, you know?

My step-father's best friend's name is up there, too. I got an etching of it for him. That was really moving for me.

my dad's best friend's name is on that wall.

long time. Eyes wet even now just remembering.

Went there once. Saw names I had not spoken since 1971, and it hurt so badly. Rich man's war, poor man's fight, and for what? They shagged ass and left...

There are really no words when you're confronted with the reality of that war, which the wall so profoundly communicates.

I got somewhat of a eerie feeling...hard to describe, when I went there. I think it's because as you said It is so huge, but at the same time very humble in appearence.

Initially, my sister and I were like, it's just a big black wall, what's the point? What am I going to learn? I know lots of people died.

But, my Mom wanted to go 'cos some of the men she went to school with went to Vietnam. So, we went. We didn't realize until we got there that it was Father's Day. People leave stuff at the wall, like those roadside memorials you see where there have been traffic fatalities. They leave notes, flowers, pictures, etc. Some of them are addressed to specific people from specific people, others are just "to any one, from everyone, thank you."

You can "rub" the names onto a piece of paper. They had veterans there helping people locate names on the wall or find out units, etc.

I think what really got my sister and I, was this letter, "Dear Daddy, I never got to meet you..." and this woman who never knew her father (presumably he was killed when she was a baby) writes him telling him what is going on in her life - some thirty odd years later. I get a little choked up just thinking about it.

To say the least of it.

If it was just a wall it would not be so meaningfull. But it is open and approachable. This makes it a people's monument. We become part of the expression it conveys. This adds meaning to it beyond rock and form.

I was on a student field trip to Belgium and Holland and went there on my own. I almost cried.

went to see the french, german and commonwealth war graves as well
they just roll on and on

that all of America can connect with and believe in.

had an almost identical affect as visiting arlington national cemetary

I was moved by most but the impact of the FDR memorial really stuck with me.

http://data2.itc.nps.gov/parkphotos/fdr2%2Ejpg

Our NHS group from school went there. It was dusk and it was very somber. My buddy was with me and we were trying to find a fellows name his father had served with. Some of the other veterans also there looking for names helped us. Very nice people.

didn't appear there, as was the case with many people my age.

I still feel so badly for all those other families. :(

Quagmire was my first impression. The turf in that little depression in the ground had been churned into one huge mudhole during the dedication ceremony (I forget, but I don't think the permanent sidewalks had been installed either because I was forced to walk through mud to get to the wall). Mud everywhere. Somehow, my memory on that miserable winter day seems so poignant because the whole damn war was nothing but a Quagmire.

but I think that unfortunately it may already be too late to even hope for that.

they will install it in a secret location considering all the deception and lies we've been told so far.

"Why should we hear about body bags and deaths," "Oh, I mean, it's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?" - Barbara Bush on ABC's "Good Morning America", March 18, 2003

memorial was built...it was the first place I went to.

It is one place that will put you into two time locks simultaneously. The war is present. Watching everyone is present. From veterans who hang out there, innocent tourists, to notes-letters-artifacts left and the person or family who find the name they seek.

And then we kill a fresh batch. Sorry for my bitterness.

It was last year during spring break, and there were tons of people there. People automatically lower their voices and walk softly. The people like us, who don't actually have someone on the Wall, moved to the outside of the line so the people who wanted to stop could.

The Vets were there, handing out paper and pencils to those who wanted to take rubbings of their loved ones' names.

I don't know what I expected, but it was very moving. My mom and I both got teary.

Have all those politicans seen it ? have they seen any of the other memorials in the park ? All they see are the checks from the drug,oil & bomb companys.

mentioning it. Thought it might hit home with them.

Some months back, someone (David Halberstam? I can't exactly recall) wrote an article for Vanity Fair on veterans, politicians and the 2004 election. He mentioned that he had asked Newt Gingrich if he had been to the Vietnam Memorial. If I recall correctly, Gingrich hadn't. The author of the article found that somewhat disturbing (i.e., that someone who has had power to make policy and has a particular interest in defense never bothered to visit the memorial, even though he worked in D.C.).

By contrast, he noted, Al Gore had visited the memorial repeatedly and of course knew some of the people whose names are inscribed there. And I need not mention that John Kerry is another who not only has visited but knew a number of the men listed.

What came through was the genuineness of Gore's and Kerry's feeling, understanding, and grief. They know the costs of sending young people to war.

to STAND UP in the midst of bush* huge numbers of police with guns, mace, clubs, horses, dogs, automatic weapons pointed right at American Citizens, military.....I go to the WALL first....and I always collapse in pain to see my cousin's name there...we grew up together, played together as children, laughed together, cared for each other....

my cousin is on the wall...Panel 19E, Silver Star, Purple Heart, Navy HM3 DEAD at 19 years old...and I pray....I ask my cousin to STAND UP with me..to WALK WITH ME.....and then, ALWAYS, it starts to feel that there are THOUSANDS of DEAD soldiers standing there with me....THOUSANDS.....and after I stay there for while, and begin to FEEL the POWER OF PEACE....I get up off the ground and I KNOW that I can do it...and even when few draft-age-young-people will walk for peace... I WILL.... and I WILL WALK WITH THOUSANDS of Americans, who were drafted into Vietnam.....THOUSANDS....

The soldiers are so eerie, with their grey color and their misshapen ponchos and packs... almost ghostly. I saw it once in fog, and it sent chills down my spine. It was like the an army of the dead walking across the Mall. I know that sounds silly. I was probably PMSing that day or something. I also liked how they recognize the other countries and their soldiers that died in the Korean War.

The Vietnam Memorial: I also very much like the "side" memorials -- with the three grunts, and the one with honoring the Nurses. Very moving.

Have you been to the Cenotaph in London?

I was also actually in London once on Remembrance Day, and got to see some of the ceremony on television.

Although I found it rather nauseating this year - Blair politicised it to hell.

By and large, I've always been proud of the way Britain has treated remembrance - the poppy is such a suitable, neutral symbol.

I'm not surprised by Blair. <sigh> I hated Bush doing that to the WW II Memorial. Both of my grandfathers fought in it and were wounded, and my GREAT grandfather landed at Normandy (long story -- he got drunk and enlisted at 45).

War sucks, but honoring the fallen warrior is okay in my book.

The VFW always gives you little fake poppies when you donate money. I always think of the UK when I see them...

I'm a pacifist, and some see the poppy as a militarist symbol. I disagree - it's something my father and I cannot talk about for fear of an almighty row. Anyway, I see nothing wrong with respecting the victims of war, and as it was once said, "All war is wrong. Sometimes, war is necessary." That's pretty much the way I feel. I'd like to ban every politician from Remembrance Sunday, though, especially if they're responsible for sendin our troops into a war that is still being fought at the time.

I'm a pacifist, too, and have always like seeing the poppy.

IF I remember a bit of trivia from my reading... the poppy is used because it was the first flower to grow in the destroyed turd at Flanders, and thus signifies remembrance or resurrection. I'm a sentimental fool, so I think that's nice... also, on a personal note, it's a bright, cheery color.

And, like you said, it's neutral -- not a laurel wreath, etc.

Great fields of poppies. I see it as a symbol of resurrection, renewal and so on. And it isn't a wreath, or a cross, or a ribbon, or anything like that.

What's Cenotaph?

Erected in the heart of London as a tribute to the dead of WW1, it is the focus of remembrance of all dead from all wars. I find it remarkably solemn and touching.

Screenname.

That would make an outstanding screenname.

But it's used as the name for tombs of the unknown soldier around the world, so be careful.

When I have enough money and resources, I'd like to visit all the other memorials across the world. I've only seen the traveling wall in my little hick town.

Don't really feel like I can say anything about any of that without seeing the many others as well. Though I have been to Gettysburg...a long time ago.

Twenty five years ago, I was able to visit The "Travelling" Wall. It was extremely difficult to see a couple of classmates names. The most difficult, however, was my younger brother's best friend. I had always considered him to be very young. He had to be barely 18 when he died.

I am an elementary school librarian. Each year on the week before Memorial Day, I show all of the classes (1-5) a "Reading Rainbow" titled "The Wall." It includes a children's book called "The Wall" by Eve Bunting. It is the story of a young boy (8 years old) visiting The Wall with his father. They are looking for the name of his Grandfather. While they visit The Wall he notices the others that visit The Wall. It concludes with something like: "I'm glad my grandfather's name is on that wall, but I would rather have him here with me!"

Buy the book, it is touching. I tear up everytime the little boy longs for his grandfather.

It took my breath away. It opened up a torrent of emtions. The design is stunningly beautiful in it's simplicity but what it represents is gut-wrenching. I can't imagine how anyone can visit it without shedding tears.

We went to the Wall. It was very moving- a stark testimony to what is really lost in war, all those names, all representing someones son or daughter, husband or wife, friend. When we were there, I almost came to blows with a lunatic woman screaming that abortion kills more "people" daily than the war in Vietnam did. I told her to shut the hell up because there were family members of the dead there.

When I saw Fahrenheit 9-11 and that woman accosted Lila Lipscomb at the White House, I thought of that lunatic at the wall. People really need to get a grip on reality.

What will the build in testimony to the dead of this war? Or will they just hide that like they hide the coffins and the injured?

And I don't know a single person who fought of died there. I can only imagine what it means for someone who lost a family member there.

when I was on a HS class trip to DC. I was amazed by the number of names...At the time ('97), it didn't have the same impact it would now. Things seemed peaceful and a draft seemed about as farfecthed as another Bush being elected (or selected) president.

They also took us to the Holocaust museum. Originally I had no interest in going to it and I initially bitched about it, cause I figured "I'm not an anti semite...It sounds depressing".

I'm glad they took us though. It was a very intense and moving experience...and I remember all the exhibits on the Hitler youth...

"California and the Viet Nam Era", at the Oakland Museum. One of the exhibits is a photo of him protesting the draft at the Oakland Induction Center in 1967.
....

"The Vietnam War inflamed a social divide that evolved into unprecedented cultural and political movements on the West Coast and in turn redefined America. In What's Going On?—California and the Vietnam Era, the Oakland Museum of California explores the impact of the Vietnam conflict on California life and culture.

During that period California was the epicenter of the war’s national front. Within its boundaries were most of the nation’s defense contractors, principal military centers from which troops were trained and transported, centers of legendary peace and anti-draft protests, the vanguard of the New Right politics ushered in by Reagan’s election in 1966, and the portal for most of the returning military and Southeast Asian immigrants."

http://www.museumca.org/exhibit/exhi_whats_going_on.html

is overwhelming.

I can't recall exactly how I felt the first time, but my lingering impression is of sorrow. I went to the index of names and looked up the man whose name was on my POW/MIA bracelet (Sgt. Kenneth Lancaster). Unfortunately, his name was there; he never made it home. God rest his soul.

Later on I went back with one of my friends from high school, her husband and her son. By then they had also put up the Vietnam nurses' memorial as well, which I also find moving, though in a different way.

are so much more touching than my experience there. At least, it seems that way in my mind.

The traveling wall came to my town this past summer actually (2004) and the cemetary is about a 30 second walk from my apartment. I went there with my best friend first, but niether of us knew anyone on it, and it was hot as hell. I felt kind of awkward as well when so many people were stricken by grief. I didn't know how to react.

A few days later I went back with my mom. One of her best friends died in Vietnam, and her cousin Ernie went MIA, so there were two names on the wall for her. She got rubbings of their names, and found out that her friend's brother, who she thought had died, actually had not.

But it really got to me then. I started talking to my mom about those guys, and she got really teary and started to cry. My mom is a very tough woman and that is only one of two times I've ever seen her cry. The other was when my grandmother died two years ago. After that, I felt more connected to the wall and it gets me more emotional to think about it now. I felt great sorrow while looking at the many thousands of other names on that wall.

I've been many times. My reaction has always been the same.

the first time, i was a young adult, visiting DC for the day. i was awed, and overwhelmed. i saw a child kneeling down, making an etching near a flag stuck in the ground. i took a picture because it was such a poignant scene to witness...

as memorials go, the wall is among the most powerful. the first time i saw it, it struck me to my soul. i walked along, looking at the seemingly endless list of names, and felt so sad, so powerless, so bereft.

a few years later, i moved to the DC area, and whenever friends or family visited, i would tell them to be sure to see the wall during their visit. i didn't go with them. afterall, i had seen it, and knew how powerful it was.

after several years, a couple who had lost friends in vietnam were visiting, and my husband had not seen the wall yet, so we all decided to go. this time, i thought i knew what to expect - a very overwhelming sadness over the pain and futility of war, and a sense of helplessness over the stupidity of so many young men dead.

the second time i visited tho, i had become the mother of 2 sons. that visit started out much the same as the first - but somehow, as i was looking at the names, i started reading them - not every single one, but names would stand out, and as i walked along, ever slower, i was reading name after name, and trying to reconcile that all these young men died, and they all were so young, and had families that loved them and missed them, and how utterly senseless it all was - every name i read was showing me a face and life cut short, and there was no sense to be made from it.

it was emotional, to say the least. my husband actually steered me away from the wall toward the end, i was crying so much. i resisted, because i felt that i should go back to the start, and read each name, and give remembrance to each individual, for at least the time it took to read their name, because they are dead, and because it was a beautiful day, and because i could go home and hug my sons.

i cried for a long time. sometimes i think i am still crying.

the first time touched my soul. the second time broke my heart.

because I was unable to type anything more.

That Black Scar on the National Mall. It rents its hole into the earth in the same way it rents a hole in each of us who see it. 58,000 names. 58,000 dead. That Black Scar. I weep for you now, my brothers. The pain is no less. The memory fresh.

Before there was the sidewalk in front of it. Before the flag pole. Before the ancillary monuments around it. There was only the Black Scar. And a path worn to dirt through the newly sodded lawn. Feet shuffle. Muddy feet. Wet dirt. Fingerprints on the black granite. Mementos left. A high school prom program and a corsage. She's there. To see him one last time. A letter in a child's scrawl: "I miss you Daddy. I know you're with God." Car keys. A rabbit's foot that was forgotten at home before he left. He has it now. A bible. A comic book - Archie and Jughead. Precious mementos left for the fallen by the walking wounded. The Beatles record. The picture of a lonely house in front of a corn field, a new MG parked in front. A young man, lean and tall, sits in it. Smiling. Proud. Young. Too fucking young. Images are all that's left of some people's lives. Now held for all time in a government vault. Cataloged. Tear stained.

Add a walkway. Erect a flagpole? No say the veterans. The Black Scar is perfect as it is. Can't leave it alone. Change it. Too harsh.

And still they come. Months later. Years later. Small things left at the base of the wall. Inconsequential things. Decades later. It won't end for another 20 years. At least. Newlyweds on their honeymoon to DC. She says to him: "That's my uncle." Now and then a new letter. An adult's hand: "I never knew you, Grandpa, but I know you're with God." Things from another time. A plastic toy soldier. The gear shift knob from a GTO. Notre Dame High School yearbook. Class of '65. "To Wade, The 30th reunion wasn't the same without you, man." A graduation announcement. University of Tennessee, Class of 2000. On it: "For you, Grandfather. Thanks you for my life."

Come the veterans. Wheelchairs. Canes. Running shoes. Old men now. Suit coats and ties. Fatigue jackets, black T-shirts and jeans. A "Nixon '68" pin? A Purple heart and a Peace sign on a key ring. The little things. Silly things. Precious things. Every one of them steeped in lost hope. And love. Each covered in tears. Every god damned one of them. Covered in tears. Man, this still hurts. And yet they come. Motorcycles roaring and yet solemn and silent. The riders with gray pony tails and bald heads. Bellies. White hair on their arms. Old men in ill fitting bits of old uniforms. Unit patches faded but proud.

Memorial Day. A crowd. "Do you have a tissue, hon?" "Look here, son. I knew him." "Granddad, did all these people die in the War? And why is that lady crying?" Busses of school children. Class trip to DC. Box lunch in the Capitol. Stopping here first. Warm and sunny. Summers. Winters. Dark, cold seasons, and rainy. Bleak. Decades. The most popular tourist attraction on the Mall. Two old men embracing and crying. Hey, man. Peace.

The Black Scar. Will it ever heal?

Will we ever learn?

and who'd been right *there* at the Kent State Massacre. I don't know if he was more sad or more angry. Much of the experience is, as others have said, seeing the pain of others who are there. It's also the cold expanse of the names, the incredible loss, and the questions of why, and what might have been.

There are so many lessons there that we should have learned. (It's amazing to think someday we may have an Iraq veterans' memorial.)

About 16 years ago. Can't forget it. Didn't expect it to me so moving. "Just a wall." But the atmosphere of the place was remarkable. Reverence. Guys with their hands on names, heads against the wall, thinking long thoughts. Weeping. Taping notes, flowers, medals. I think it's power also comes from the statues. Incredibly formed faces, postures...

Especially since I came back to work at a VA hospital with PTSD Vietnam vets right after. Very, Very moving.

:(

it made me blubber like crazy

go there because it represents so many young lives gone needlessly. Maybe in a few years when Vietnam is farther away in my mind.