THE WALL OF FACES

Private David Charles DeWitt, Served with Company I, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment, 3rd Marine Division, Third Marine Amphibious Force.

Thank you for your service to our country so long ago sir. The remembrance from your friend Jim Flynn is touching and evokes memories of times long gone. As long as you are remembered you will remain in our hearts forever…..

Marine Corps Recruit Depot
San Diego, CA
Second Battalion
Platoon 201

Commenced Training:
19 January 1965
Graduated:
31 March 1965

SSGT H.P. Klunk - Platoon Commander
SGT G.W. Prater - Drill Instructor
CPL A.E. Patty - Drill Instructor

Three other members of Platoon 201 were KIA in Viet Nam.
CPL David L. Collins - Carson City, NV
CPL Teddy L. Hisaw Jr. - Catoosa, OK
LCPL John E. Paddock - Port Townsend, WA

Semper Fidelis, Marine!

Dear PVT David De Witt,
Thank you for your Rifleman. It is Mother's Day weekend, and I wish you all were here with your moms. It has been too long, and it's about time for us all to acknowledge the sacrifices of those like you who answered our nation's call. Please watch over America, it stills needs your strength, courage and faithfulness. Rest in peace with the angels.

Dave was a close friend in my youth in the river town of Clinton. He, Lynn and myself knocked about getting in shallow trouble and testing tastes, adventures, girls (Who looked lots like women.) Of we three, I graduated from Clinton High.

As a "dropout," Dave acquired an old, green '53 Pontiac straight eight. As soon as school was out, we three gathered in that ol' eight to run the Clinton circuit. With usually empty pockets, our adventures were limited. Every so often we'd crank up enough for some cheap wine or malt liquor and drink ourselves into manhood. Chow at Don' Drive-In was on the docket, too. Old time grub with handmade burgers showing that buttery shine on the bun tops, fries that actually tasked like 'taters and A&W root beer in icy, hefty mugs that, even lacking ice, made one's teeth scream in protest against the chill filled our bellies in satisfactory form as we hassled and hustled the car hops.

In our misadventures, intelligence rarely intruded. Without giving instructions as to how, a drug abuse surfaced which involved Dristan Inhalers. That's how Dave got the nick, Dris or Drissy. He cherished it, Lynn enjoyed it and I was scared of it. I did it anyway.

Knocking around town with little to do aside from the chump jobs a dropout gets got old in a hurry for Dris. He surprised us with the news he'd enlisted in the Marines. Some rumbling about some place in Asia called Vietnam made us slightly edgy, but, shoot, that was half a planet away.

When Dris, now certainly Dave, came home from Marine Basic and AIT he'd changed as dramatically as do all who get trained. He was still small though well muscled, but he stood tall as a man and Marine in that set of blues.

The dances at the Rec were a big, social deal for us. I recall the news of Dave's death. Apparently he was in I Corps walking point. He took multiple rounds to the head from an AK-47. We who know that weapon know why the funeral was a closed casket affair.

Some time later my turn came as it did for many. I attended Warrant Officer Candidate Flight School ending up as a CWO UH-iC gunship pilot in RVN from October '68 to '69.

I've thought of you often, Dris, while there and ever since. Lynn and I drained a bottle at your gravesite. You remember. Your death was the first of many, but the heartache of your passing brought a special level of grief and remorse. God bless you, Mate. Creator Lord, take unto Thyself the soul of the valiant.