Remembering the Fallen

A Veteran’s Iraq war vigil (in Juneau)

By Rich Moniak, for The Whalesong

According to the calendar, March 20 is the first day of spring. The season evokes images of flowers, trees budding, and the songs of birds adding a pleasing melody to drift along in the warm air. But to the several people standing in a circle at the Dimond Court Plaza, the cold gray Juneau weather joined a flag-draped coffin at the foot of the stairs to reveal the solemn reason for their gathering.

It was only 6:15 in the morning as John Dunker spoke into a hand-held microphone. It sent his voice beyond the snow and slush covered plaza. His thin gray beard and wire-rimmed glasses escaped the edges of his bulky winter clothing. Though his appearance and quiet tone didn’t command attention, the idea of paradox leaned forward between the odd mixture of fierce focus and sadness. He was reading.

Sergeant Daniel J. Londono, 22, Boston, Massachusetts. PFC Joel K. Brittain, 21, Santa Anna, California. Staff Sergeant Joe L. Dunigan Jr., 37, Belton Texas.

The casket was empty. The names being read were of soldiers who have died during the Iraq war. The group was comprised primarily of veterans, each claiming a uniquely silent bond to those who serve the current call to duty. The vigil honoring the fallen commemorated the third anniversary of the invasion of Iraq, not only in protest to this war, but a call to question the merit of any and all wars.

In the mid-60s Dunker spent a year in Vietnam, before the peak of US involvement in the two decades-long war that took the lives of more than 58,000 American soldiers. He says that when he returned from combat he felt inclined to show an opposition to the war, but struggled with finding a meaningful focus to do so. But today he is certain of his role in speaking out.

What is the nature of the 40-year-old memories that instills such a conviction? Are they standing next to the briefly spoken names of the men and women who can’t return home to wonder about their place after the war?

When Dunker finished reading a page of 25 names, Ed Hein, another vet, gently struck a Buddha bowl, sending a solo note to momentarily pierce the still air. As the vibration faded, the book of names was passed to KJ Metcalf. His coarse voice caught the same steady cadence that flowed from Dunker.

PFC Nichole M. Frye, 19, Lena, Wisconsin. Specialist Michael M. Merila, 23, Sierra Vista, Arizona. Specialist Christopher M. Taylor, 25, Daphne, Alabama.

Metcalf was in Germany in the fall of 1956 when the Soviet Union sent tanks into Hungary to crush an uprising against the Communist dictatorship. US troops were poised for battle. The Hungarian revolt coincided with the brief war between Israel and Egypt over the Suez Canal, and both superpowers had threatened to reach into their nuclear arsenals as the conflict escalated. Ever since, Metcalf believes there must be a better way than turning to the
military for solutions to conflicts between nations.

What images that never materialized into a physical event but struck a distinctly dark fear is he remembering 50 years later? Would some of these soldiers follow his footsteps if given the chance to remember what almost happened had their last battle not been fought?

Again and again the bowl rings, as each person in the group passes the black book along. Morning continues to arrive. A few more cars pass by, and the occasional pedestrian attempts to negotiate the snow covered sidewalks. State maintenance workers shovel snow from the Capitol steps. A four-wheel ATV with a plow attached pushes mounds of snow across the plaza, briefly upsetting the rhythm of the group. They move off to the side and resume, the cadence of names in the air unchanged.

Staff Sergeant Thomas W. Christensen, 42, Atlantic Mine, Michigan. Staff Sergeant Stephen C. Hattamer, 43, Gwinn, Michigan. Captain Christopher J. Splinter, 43, Platteville, Wisconsin.

Sunlight can’t penetrate the clouds and brighten the morning. The gray mood prevails and the drizzle continues. The comings and goings increase around the plaza. The street noise begins to alter the quiet.

Specialist Aaron R. Clark, 20, Chico, California. PFC Ray J. Hutchinson, 20, League City, Texas. Specialist Ryan C. Young, 21, Corona, California.

Business as usual reclaims a Monday morning in Juneau. Except at the Dimond Court Plaza, where a few men and women read, sound a chime, and pass on to the next a 93-page book of names as the light rain falls. Occasionally a few drops rolled down the plastic sleeve that keeps the paper dry. Maybe the pages are shedding tears for the 2314 souls who will never again know a Monday morning, snow, rain, or those places where in spring the flowers bloom.