Stephen R. Patterson gave up a National Merit Scholarship to join the US Marines and fight in Vietnam.
Judging by the ages of my sister and myself, this was likely taken before his unit was surrounded by the North Vietnamese in 1968 at Khe Sanh.
The family home, Bellevue Idaho near the Wood River.
Steve was always a writer, sharing the same proximity to Ernest Hemmingway when the latter chose to end his life in Ketchum Idaho. Here is what Steve wrote about his birthplace:
Bellevue wasn’t much, but a river ran through it. It was surrounded by mountains.
I was the 6th of 6 children, born when my parents had already about enough of raising children, so I had the place and time to wonder. I spent a lot of time fishing and skipping rocks, and to ride my bicycle on abandoned mining roads and the mounds accompanied by my faithful dog, Waldo.
I rolled a lot of rocks downhill sides.
Hemmingway Monument, Ketchum Idaho.
During his service letters would arrive from Saigon. Often, they would have the red dirt of Vietnam upon them. He didn’t say anything about having been wounded at Khe Sahn. Here is an official record made by the US Military following the siege. The references to the French loss at Dien Bien Phu in 1954 under similar conditions is mentioned. The major difference was air power the United States could field.
I include this video because it is a pretty good representation of conditions on the ground there and what America could see on television about the conflict.
Steve did tell us of other events during his tour, away from Khe Sanh. Once his artillery unit was ordered to fire on a column of elephants one day. They were puzzled but obeyed the order. The elephants did not just die, they exploded, confirming the intelligence the enemy was using the beasts to cover their transport of armaments.
I also recall the stories other Marines told of waking up in a bunker and finding half of their fellow Americans had had their throats cut over night, and the rest were left with the horror and the memory.
If you have read this far in the post and haven’t felt any particular emotions, I recommend clicking on this link to The Wall Song.
The Wall Song by writers Mitch Townley, Judy Gorman-King, and Brad Dunse
It’s Ok if there is a lump in your throat at this point.
The Wall Song by writers Mitch Townley, Judy Gorman-King, and Brad Dunse, Used with permission.
Also take in the somber poetry of The Wall by Tim Murphy.
On a drizzly D.C. morning, in the middle of July,
My brother brought me downtown to the Mall;
Past the watchful eyes of Lincoln, ‘neath a weeping summer sky,
We crossed the street to the little green and visited The Wall.
I remember I was nervous then, I guess a little scared,
‘Cause I wasn’t sure how I’d react at all;
To see the names of the servicemen who’d been recorded there:
Who’d heard the final roll call and assembled at The Wall.
Someone might stoop to leave a rose, a letter, or a poem;
A message to a young man loved and lost,
To show they still remember those who never made it home:
Who built The Wall so long and tall, and paid the bitter cost.
And every name’s a father or a husband or a son,
Or a daughter or a brother or a cousin to someone;
Or a name might be a classmate or a friend you may recall:
There’s nearly sixty thousand fallen names still waiting at The Wall.
As I watched the lines of people that walked by in slow parade,
I read a different story in each face;
And I couldn’t help but wonder at this pilgrimage we’d made,
And what common bond, if any, might have brought us to this place.
There were tourists, and the curious, and some veterans who came, still others who sought an answer to it all; but the only thing I am sure of is: we left not quite the same, with our memories alive and well, and waiting at the wall.
We crossed the street to the little green and visited The Wall.
My cousins waded into the Wood River to spread their fathers’ ashes into the valley he grew up in. Danny followed his father’s character of being a man of few words, then with dignity and respect emptied the urn into the stream.
In the poignant moment that followed, the ashes spread out across the breath of the stream, down through Ketchum and on to Bellevue, past the house and the town that formed his character.
Then just for a moment, time stood still.
Note to the family. I listened to this one last time and found I had the University Steve attended wrong in the recording, he attended the University of Oregon, not Washington.
Also, I somehow left out his reluctance to display the Purple Heart he was awarded, due to his allegiance to display the medal out of respect for his buddies who did not make it back.
Apologies.
Lawyers Road Review 