I would call it the West end of town. Fredericksburg starts to trickle out after you get to the Catholic cemetery. I have walked through that cemetery time after time again. Intrigued by the stories, perhaps some long forgotten, of the former citizens of this fine hill country town, or just to seek a quit moment of reflection of what might have been.
No matter how many visits, or trips through the tombstones, I find myself constantly pulled to the grave of Raymond Ottmers. To a young man whom death claimed far too early, too far away. To a young man who I never knew, yet I feel, as if I’ve known him all my life.
You see, not so long ago; I wanted to be just like him. A country boy born to the parents, of the greatest generation, like so many others, they struggled through the depression just to make ends meet. They witnessed perhaps, history’s greatest struggle in the Allies victory in World War II and then the gallant effort of the United Nations army, consisting mostly of U.S. troop’s trying to stop the flowing red tide of Communism from sweeping over the Korean Peninsula.
What would it have been like to grow up as a young boy in Fredericksburg during that time, as our country rolled through these unforgettable changes? Perhaps, I would get up early for that Saturday morning haircut, where all my friends have gathered. If I were lucky, maybe the barber would put a little touch of that warm shaving cream around my ears. A sure sign that I was soon be shaving, passing the threshold, well on my way to becoming a man.
Then clamoring down the street, being sure to avoid the weekend shoppers, I’d take a run to the Five and Dime for a soda pop, maybe a Frosties Root Beer or Nehi and two of my favorite comic’s G. I. Combat and Sergeant Rock. And please, just a few minutes in the hardware store to smell the leather and to check out the new fishing poles that just came in this week. Taking all the shortcuts to get back home just in time for Hopalong Cassidy or Gene Autry, followed by Superman and the American way.
Would you believe me if I told you Ray, that many of us today claim that “life was much simpler back then”. There seems to be trouble at all the four corners of the globe and we thrive on the daily trash like Anna Nichole, Paris Hilton and Alec Baldwin that the media continues to throw at a somewhat suspecting populace. To the ones who look back in history for guidance in the future could anything ever have been so good? To be snug in your home, in your place, in your time, like some old black and white news reel and then your country came a calling.
Vietnam? Have you ever heard of it? Heck no, have you? I can’t even find it on the dang map, but that’s where I’m going… to die. Will you remember me?
I played on the hardwood floor of our living room for countless hours, in front of our first RCA, with my own small armies of plastic men and tanks. I would look up from my battles to the battles on the color TV screen as they fought their television war, a million miles away.
I’m going to be there as soon as I can, to fight by your side, because I am going to be just like you. Until then, I’ll send you care packages filled with Kool-Aid for your canteens, I know the water is bad over there. How about some of my baseball cards, homemade chocolate chip cookies and yes even, mom’s apple pie. Thanks for the letter with the photo of you in front of your bunker. I carry it with me to show all my friends.
By my sophomore year of high school the war for the United States had ended and many hung their heads in shame. Most of our POW’s where coming home, although the name on my MIA bracelet never would. I guess I knew then, that I would never be one of the soldiers that went off to fight “that crazy Asian war”. How quickly life can change.
Raymond lost his life in 1967; during the so-called “Summer of Love”. Today you can see a small photo of him, in his uniform, on his tombstone facing the Catholic Cemetery Road. He is an irreproachable guardian of our freedom and his place in time. I can’t ever go by without him seeing me, so I make sure that I stop by for a visit every time I’m in town, just to say thanks.
As I walk the streets of your home Ray, I can’t help but notice that the storefronts names and landscapes have seen so many changes. NASA even flew your name to a comet on a three billion mile journey, on the Stardust spacecraft. Can you imagine that? And, we thought Southeast Asia was far away.
I don’t know what you thought about being in Nam, maybe you didn’t think it meant much, if it would have any influence on anyone at all or maybe you even questioned if it was worth it. In your peace, know that because of people like you the generational virtues that have made young American men and women believe in the honor, duty and personal sacrifice of defending our unalienable rights have remained true.
Raymond Ottmers was what I was sure I would be. I remember Ray. I remember.
In memory of, RAYMOND OTTMERS JR
Fredericksdburg, TX.
(CPL 15 Engineer Co./ Vietnam)
Sept 25-1945 Aug 23 - l967
Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Panel 25 East, Row 35
“The past and the future meet in the memory of the dead. The sweetest and brightest link in the chain that stretches back over the past, binds us to the dead; and that chain stretches forward to eternity and attaches itself to the living throne of God. In this way death joins on to life; and all that is scared in memory connects itself with all.”
George B. Taylor
A Virginian’s reflection on the battle of
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania 1863
