I went looking for The Truth, not available in 1968. Still the same bundle of guilt and grief, rage and despair, who had thrown a dinette chair through a (closed) living room window in '68, I went looking for The Truth, and possibly for someone to blame (other than myself). After years of "Forget it - and forget him. Nobody cares anymore, you idiot." and much worse, there was still no peace, and no forgetting, and no end to the pain - and still no explanation. I knew Bruce well - he would not have made a mistake. He saw and heard everything long before others did, his reaction time was instantaneous - he was very fast and very strong. I had seen him keep his head and know what to do while I froze in panic. Bruce would not have made a mistake. I didn't understand. And so, I went looking for The Truth.
What I found are some of the surviving men of Golf Company, who have won my respect and my heart. What I found is that Bruce died in the company of better men than most of us ever get to live in the company of.
What I found is that the loss of Teague was taken personally, and the events of May 16, 1968, are remembered as clearly as if they had happened yesterday. What I found is that some good men survived and made it home, only to have their lives destroyed by their memories.
What I found is that Bruce's friend Jim, who identified what was left of him, picked him up and put him in the chopper that took him off Go Noi Island, has never forgotten him. At least my memories of Bruce are happy ones. His memories are worse than nightmares.
And The Truth about what happened that day? Bruce had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He never had a chance. He had made no mistakes. The Marines near him had made no mistakes. It didn't even matter. I don't know how the survivors stand it. I don't know how they live with the memory of what happened that day - but I'm humbled by the strength and dignity with which they carry it.
At least two are haunted. And still, they did all they could to help me understand. They were tolerant of my naive questions, respectful and kind. Finally, I was among friends - Bruce's friends. Not one of these men told me to just let it go, and forget about him. And now I know if they could have helped Bruce survive that nightmare and make it home, they would have given whatever it took. It was just not possible.
I want to tell them, "Thank you so very much. It's all right. Now I understand. Bless your precious, beautiful hearts - and welcome home."
Winter of 1966
Bruce's hair was so cool! It was as straight as I wished mine was, and soft, and I LOVED IT! At the Mall one day, in front of a big mirror in the May Company, he was admiring the way we looked so right together - him with his hair too long and me with my dress too short. He pronounced us perfect for each other! We were a perfect match.
Fall of 1967
Marine Corps graduation, Platoon 2023, San Diego.
When you thought of Bruce, "innocent" was not the first word that came to mind. But he was innocent, and idealistic, and trusting. We were close, and I knew his heart. He believed that good would prevail over evil, that the good guys in the white hats were supposed to win. He had faith in his country, and in God. Bruce was as innocent as they made them.
And jumped back over the fence to see,
What could be keeping me,
And tried various ways of helping me over the top.
Finally, laughing so hard he could no longer lift me,
He admitted defeat and walked all the way around,
With me, and for me,
He slowed his steps.
Nothing got by Bruce.
We proceded along the sidewalk,
Past the parked cars
Up the steps and into the auditorium.
Waiting there later, I could only say
This is what I remembered.
But he would say -
We walked past a maroon '64 Pontiac,
A white '59 Chevy Impala, a black '57
Ford Fairlane, a blue '61 Ford Galaxie,
And that we went up 14 steps
Or however many there were-
- He would know -
In front of the auditorium.
And he would also say -
That the clouds were like cotton
And a pair of blue jays were circling a nest,
Which they had built in an unlikely place,
And were noisily defending it.
He was happy and confident.
I would worry
And he would smile and laugh,
And he would pull me along
Until I was smiling and laughing with him.
We were one thing.
A here-they-are-now thing.
(A where-have-you-been thing),
But he was ninety percent of us.
He was quality.
He came from people well respected and admired.
He was loved and knew who he was,
Firstborn son of a proud family.
He had a future, and I had.......
...... None of the above.
He was sincere, genuine, honest and true,
He was rock-steady, all or nothing.
I was like smoke blown on the wind,
Here and there and sometimes -
Not there at all.
I knew how to survive,
But he knew how to live.
He gave ninety percent,
But saw me with forgiving eyes,
And understanding heart,
And kissed my face with tenderness,
And held me with gentle arms,
As if I was something precious.
And his life was blown away
As if he was worth
Less than nothing.
Los Angeles National Cemetery
Of all the explanations for why we bring what's left of them home, the lines from "A Bivouac of the Dead", written in 1847 by Theodore O'Hara, say it best -
"Sons of the dark and bloody ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where strangers' steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil -
The ashes of her brave.
Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field.
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast,
On many a bloodied shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep shall here tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps."
Bruce's footstone is at the base of a tree, and there is just barely enough room for me to fit, sitting against the tree, between the tree and the footstone. The tree keeps the sun and rain off me, (except when it rains sideways) and the trunk kind of wraps around. From the rest of the cemetery, from three sides, no one can even tell that I'm there, and they leave us alone.
I can't often come to California. Once many years passed. When I finally made it home to LA, I found Bruce's grave abandoned. It was just one of the low spots in the grass. All of them were. Rows of low spots in the grass, at the very back corner of the cemetery. Under the neatly trimmed grass and under the dirt, the stone was solid black with mold. It took a long time, with only a bottle of drinking water and a towel, to make the words legible, and I cried the whole time I tried to clean it. Bruce had been forgotten. It didn't occur to me that the Marines did not know where he was. But after I posted a remembrance on The Virtual Wall, his unit responded. Ever since then, his friend Jim, who arrived with him in Vietnam and was there with him until his last day, keeps up Bruce's place at the cemetery. It always looks great whenever I make it to California.
My Bruce ........
I don't know why Bruce chose me - I didn't deserve to be loved by someone like him.
Most people who knew Bruce, but not that well, describe him as very quiet, very serious, maybe shy or reserved. But around me, my Bruce was just the opposite!!! He was always in motion, never walked when he could run, never went around something he could hop or climb over! If I waited at the top of the stairs, he would take them three steps at a time. I came out of the May Company once, the entrance opposite the school, and he was supposed to meet me there. He went over a chain link fence like it was nothing, made it across the street through all the traffic in the middle of the block, and ran all the way across a huge parking lot, up to where I was waiting! He always ran to meet me if he was more than 10 feet away!!! My Bruce, reserved?
Most days, Bruce could not walk through a doorway or under low-hanging Christmas decorations at the mall, or tree branches, or anything, without jumping up to touch them and yelling "Yaaaow!!!!" Quiet? Who, my Bruce?
And Bruce, shy? Oh, please! I was so used to being hit on! I was already going with somebody anyway. Bruce had to be aggressive just to get noticed!! He just sort of cornered me up against my locker one day, introduced himself, and said that he thought I was the coolest girl in the whole place, among other compliments. I forgot all about him by the next day. He tried again - I don't know how many times. Same results. Then one day he said something like "Well, pretty girl, you just don't understand the situation - so I'm going to explain it to you" and he laid a kiss on me ...... right there in front of everybody ...... that drew whistles and applause ...... and sent at least two hateful old lady teachers scurrying for the Admin building! Shy? My Bruce?
Of course, he quieted down somewhat, after awhile.
Being with Bruce meant being secure, protected, sheltered, loved....... safe. There was no one like him, anywhere. He didn't just smile whenever he saw me - he lit up like a Christmas tree. And no one ever danced with me the way he did, no one ever held me and sang to me, the way he did. No one else ever wrote me a song. No one ever looked at me the way Bruce did, and certainly, no one ever loved me half as much as he did.
His good friend Jim, who arrived in country together with Bruce, was wounded and sent home 6 weeks after Bruce was killed. He keeps up Bruce's grave, and is a good friend to me.
Ron Shaller, Panel 52West, Line 16
"Watch Over Me"
Believe I cared for you, because I did.
Know I grieve for you, because I do.
Trust that I'll remember, because I promised.
Watch over me - I still depend on you.
You came on as subtle as a freight train.
(Thanks for getting me kicked out of school.)
Those bright blue eyes would light up when you saw me.
No one ever loved me half as much as you.
I'm sorry for mistakes I made that hurt you.
I'm grateful you remained my trusted friend.
And when I ran back to your arms, you held me,
Forgave it all - and took me back again.
A million times I've needed you to be here.
A million times I've broken down and cried.
All our happy hopes and plans for later-
Blown to a million pieces when you died.
Believe I cared for you, because I did.
Know I grieve for you, because I do.
Trust that I'll remember, because I promised.
That's easy - I still can't let go of you.
On the other Virtual Wall....
"Pariter Semper" - A video remembrance
Received as a Gift
"A million tomorrows shall all pass away
'Ere I forget all the joy that is mine.... today."
"This memorial web page is part of a registered and copyrighted web site, but this is not meant to apply to Bruce's friends, his brother Marines or those who also loved him. If this is you, please feel free to copy the photos, the still frames, the graphics, or any part of the page you wish."
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