A Memorial Day Thought.

What does Memorial Day mean to you? A day to break out the barbecue and grill some meat with friends? To decorate the house and picnic table in flags and red, white and blue? An excuse to get away for a three-day weekend at the beach? Sure, all those things have become a part of Memorial Day, but they are not what should be our main concern.

According to www.usmemorialday.org, Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, in his General Order No. 11, and was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. Congress officially designated the last Monday in May as Memorial Day in 1971.

I was reminded of the true meaning of Memorial Day, to me anyway, this past Saturday when I was shooting an assignment at a benefit concert for Operation Ward 57, a charity that provides help for the Amputee Ward at Walter Reed Medical Center. I was looking around the crowd for different shots and I saw an older gentleman, who, to me, looked like an old vet, stretched out on the ground watching the bands. I kept him in my mind as I moved around the crowd and thought the giant flag behind him would make a great background. I lined up the shot just as a song was being finished and he started applauding. I made a nice picture, but that was not what made my day.

As usual after I shoot a keeper, I walk up and introduce myself. "Hello, sir, my name is Paul Gillespie and I am a photographer with The Capital newspaper. I made a nice image of you, and I was wondering if I could get your name?" I also asked if he was a veteran. He told me his name was Michael Harmon and pulled his VA card out of his wallet to show me. He told me he was in the 101st Airborne division of the US Army, which his hat also verified, and that he was wounded in Vietnam. He also said that it was something he didn't like to talk about. I thanked him for his service to our country, and he said he really appreciated the sentiment.

Now this is normally when I usually get on to looking for my next shot, but I always enjoy meeting and talking to interesting people. That is one of the best parts of my job. So I asked him if had ever spent any time at Walter Reed. He said he had. He told me that he spent 1970-1972 in Walter Reed and on and off for various surgeries over the years. For someone who didn't want to talk, he sure started opening up and I was enjoying hearing his story.

He told me that he was shot in Vietnam, but did not go into where on his body. I could see he had trouble moving his leg, but then he started telling me about how he could not move his right arm for a long time after he was wounded, then I noticed his disfigured fingers. Next, he said, "Do you want to hear a story?" "Sure," I said. He started telling me about this Army doctor, who came into his room at Walter Reed and said, "How much use of that right arm would you like to regain?" He told him as much as possible, so the doctor said, "How about 95%," and gave him a ball and said to start squeezing. After many long months of working with the doctor, Sgt. Harmon had most of the use of his arm and hand back, something he would never forget.

Fast forward 10 years later and Sgt. Harmon was watching TV after President Reagan and Press Secretary James Brady were shot. He saw the same doctor was working with Brady. He wrote the doctor a letter only giving his first name and telling him that he was sure Brady was better off having him as his doctor working with him then he would have been with anyone else. A few months later, Sgt. Harmon received a letter from the doctor, asking him how his arm was and thanking him for his letter of encouragement.

At this point, Sgt. Harmon started to tear up a little and said he had Stage 4 cancer and he thought it was from the use of Agent Orange in Vietnam. After he recomposed himself, he told me how he was currently living with a former Navy sailor, who served his time on a ammo ship during the Vietnam war. This sailor, Sgt. Harmon said, put him on a pedestal, for being on the ground in Vietnam, to which Sgt. Harmon told him, "Get me off that pedestal; you are the crazy one for being on that floating bomb."

During this whole talk, I was calling him sir, he finally said, "My name is Michael." It is just a habit I am in to respect my elders and those who have served our country, I told him. It was tough. and a few more sirs came out of my mouth, but I started calling him Michael.

He also spoke of how the event was great and that he thought it was really something that it had been organized by a Canadian Army officer for the benefit of injured US troops. He said that it was something that the U.S. government should be taking care of without cutting corners. I agreed with him and again thanked him for his service. He said he asked his roommate if he wanted to come, but the roommate didn't have the ticket money. He said, "How could you not be able to scrounge up the money for something as important as helping wounded soldiers?"

Sgt. Harmon told me how he had lived in Crownsville with his brother, but jokingly said he was tired of living the fancy life, so he moved to Baltimore. Something told me that he hardly had lived the fancy life in his years on this Earth. For a guy who did not want to talk about his service, he made my day by allowing me to hear just a part of his story. I think I may have made his day just a little better also by taking the time to thank him and listen.

So what is Memorial Day really about? I know it is about honoring the fallen soldiers and their families, but why not also take the time to remember all those who served, not just on Memorial Day or Veterans Day, but everyday you may run into them. A thank you goes a long way.

Check out the rest of the images here.