THE WALL OF FACES

On July 23, 1966 I was wounded and Fred Baugh was killed by a land mine (one of ours that was captured by the VC.) In anticipation of visiting the site where I was wounded I composed a poem (using a structure common to Vietnamese poetry) - I use the voice of the mine to capture the moment.

Bright morning summer sun warms the ground.
Under a blanket of earth I wait.
Arms of wire exposed to the sun.
Children laugh and play at a distance.
Mindlessly, Marines approach unaware of my presence.
One steps over me and sits.
Patiently I wait knowing there are others.
Shadow of boot blocks out the sun.
As my hands come together I explode.
Free from the earth I am transformed.
I am wind pushing metal without thought.
I meet flesh then bone and stop.
Death, my purpose and destiny now complete.

In February 2003 I sent out on a journey of healing and to find the site where Fred was killed. I could not find the exact location where the mine exploded, so I left this poem along with some pictures with the Vietnamese that had gathered to help me find the site. I dedicated the poem Fred and to all who died in the American war in Vietnam.

On July 23, 1966 I was wounded and Fred Baugh was killed by a land mine (one of ours that was captured by the VC.) In anticipation of visiting the site where I was wounded I composed a poem (using a structure common to Vietnamese poetry) - I use the voice of the mine to capture the moment.

Bright morning summer sun warms the ground.
Under a blanket of earth I wait.
Arms of wire exposed to the sun.
Children laugh and play at a distance.
Mindlessly, Marines approach unaware of my presence.
One steps over me and sits.
Patiently I wait knowing there are others.
Shadow of boot blocks out the sun.
As my hands come together I explode.
Free from the earth I am transformed.
I am wind pushing metal without thought.
I meet flesh then bone and stop.
Death, my purpose and destiny now complete.

In February 2003 I sent out on a journey of healing and to find the site where Fred was killed. I could not find the exact location where the mine exploded, so I left this poem along with some pictures with the Vietnamese that had gathered to help me find the site. I dedicated the poem Fred and to all who died in the American war in Vietnam.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye – 1932

Fred is buried at Arlington Nat Cem.

Although we never met personally, I want to thank you Fred Otis Baugh, Jr., for your courageous and valiant service, faithful contribution, and your most holy sacrifice given to this great country of ours! Your Spirit is alive--and strong, therefore Marine, you shall never be forgotten, nor has your death been in vain! Again, thank you LCPL Fred Otis Baugh, Jr., for a job well done! REST IN ETERNAL PEACE MY MARINE FRIEND