I went to “the wall” yesterday; you know, “the wall”?

It was in Madawaska. It is about half the size of the real wall but still has all the names on it, the names of all the killed and missing in action in Vietnam. This wall travels around the country so people who may never get a chance to see the real wall can get some idea what it is like.

I went to the table where the directory was to look up the name of my friend: Anthony Morina. There it was. The lady wrote “29W L46 Morina” on a piece of paper.

“Would you like me to show you where it is?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Anthony (never Tony, by the way) and I went to North Rockland High School in Haverstraw, New York. He was a year behind me but we had a few of the same friends. We worked together for a time at the Grand Union. …

I went in the Air Force; Anthony, the Marines. I got to fly over Vietnam a few times; he got to really go.

There was his name on panel 29W at the end of the 46th line. I was sure before I went there that when this moment came I would break down; but I didn’t. Instead, I did something strange. I went back to the beginning and decided to read one name on each panel from beginning to end. I worked my way down the length of the wall. About halfway down the other side, I stopped. At the foot of one of the panels was a piece of paper with someone’s name on it in a child’s handwriting. It was to Master Sergeant … and said, “we miss you…” and there were some names. I told my wife that’s what they do at the real wall; they leave notes and medals and all kinds of things. All of a sudden it became real again as my eyes moistened: Anthony, Vietnam, the names.

One time Anthony gave me a ride home, then asked me for gas money. All I had was 34 cents. He got mad at me but soon forgot about it; we were friends. I think I was in Spain, half a world away, when I heard he got killed.

As we were leaving, I asked my wife for some money to put in the box. I waved, said thanks and goodbye. I know my voice was cracking; probably they’re used to that at “the wall”; you know, “the wall.” Ron McArdle Presque Isle