Shane Rhyne

In 1980, when Congress set aside land in Washington, DC, for a Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial, it was easy to assume that the eventual design would be similar to the other Greco-Roman-styled monuments along the National Mall. Perhaps there would be sculpture of a helmet-wearing GI waving his men forward. It would be carved from bright white marble and contain beautiful quotes and statements about loyalty, perseverance and remembrance. There would be a wreath in bas relief on a column and an eagle perched above it all. That’s how things are done. It was inevitable.

No one told Maya Lin, however, when she submitted her proposal for a radical new design for the memorial. Her design- one of 1,400 submitted was the top choice of the judges, but widely disliked by the general public– particularly veterans.

Lin’s design did not stand tall above the Washington skyline. It dug itself into the ground. It was made of reflective black granite, not white marble. The original design included no heroic sculpture- only names. 50,000 names.

The judges recognized the genius and symbolism of the design, but the public would take a while to catch up. Some early supporters of the project, including Jim Webb (currently representing Virginia in the U.S. Senate), resigned from the memorial committee in protest of the design choice.

But, isn’t that the way it is with us humans? When confronted with the new, we perceive different as a negative and not the potential of the new.

Throughout 1981, there was debate whether the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial would even be built. Calmer heads prevailed and work began. When the memorial was opened to the public 27 years ago today on November 13, 1982, there was still some debate about the design…until people stepped forward to read the names– the 50,000 names.

When you turn to The Wall (as the memorial has come to be known) to read the names, you are confronted with a startling vision– yourself reflected in the black granite with the names etched across your face. In a startling moment, you have become the ghost and those very real, very solid names are the living things we have come to haunt, to disturb with our rattling chains of memories.

It wasn’t long before Americans adapted to the different memorial and made it their own. Families would come visit these names, make pencil rubbings to take home, and converse with the names through actual words or symbolic trinkets. It had become an uniquely American wailing wall and soon the memorial site was littered with birthday cards, high school graduation photos, notes of prayer, letters pleading for or giving forgiveness, and more.

Today, the trinkets themselves are as much a part of the memorial. We cannot imagine it any other way. We cannot imagine the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial in any other shape or format than the one envisioned by Maya Lin. We are shocked to look back in time and see the Memorial derisively called a “black gash of shame” and other even less friendly terms. The Wall, with its 50,000 names, is where we go to touch the names– as if our fingertips can bring back the sons, brothers, fathers and classmates again. We need to touch the wall to remind ourselves that, our ghostly reflection notwithstanding, we are the living and the rock before us contains not our own apparition, but instead the ghosts of our lost. The Wall is a communal tombstone for a generation of men and women and we leave intimate gifts of thanks, remembrance, and undying love for each name etched there.

Our song of the week is one of the best expressions of all the Wall has come to represent to us in the 27 years since it opened to us. Some readers may have heard the song as it was performed by the legendary George Jones, but I present it here by the song’s writer Jamie O’Hara.

There is a great independently-run web site about the memorial, operated by veterans of the 9th Infantry. It even includes the ability to find out which names on the Wall are having birthdays.