THE WALL OF FACES

On the remembrance of your 68th birthday, your sacrifice is not forgotten.

Semper Fortis

Dear An James O’Neal, Thank you for your service as an Airman on the USS TRIPOLI AND USS OGDEN. Saying thank you isn't enough, but it is from the heart. Lent has begun. Time passes quickly. Please watch over America, it stills needs your strength, courage and faithfulness, especially now. Rest in peace with the angels.

SEMPER FI

AN James T. O’Neill was an airman assigned to the USS Tripoli. However, he was transferred to the USS Ogden because of a strike the Air Department from his ship had gone on. While on the Ogden he was assigned to V-3 Division (Hanger Deck) Air Department. On July 4, 1973, during Operation End Sweep, AN O’Neill was working on the flight deck of the Ogden. During preparation for a HMH-463 CH-53D helicopter take-off, AN O’Neill picked up the wheel chocks and placed them in the stern (rear) hydraulic door, leaning inside to do so. The crew chief, who did not see James, closed the door. AN O’Neill died almost immediately. His body was brought to the USS Dubuque for transfer and burial. [Taken from “Operation End Sweep” at thelexicans.wordpress.com]

My memories of Tim include his incredible skill with models and electronics. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but that skill was evidence of Tim’s awesome analytical intelligence blossoming. I was 18 years old when Tim was killed while serving off the coast of Vietnam. Before he enlisted in the Navy, we spent countless nights watching late night horror movies, building models and rockets, and engaging in adventures some of which I am not at liberty to share.
In 1971 like most juniors I received my high school class ring. Later that year there was an evening activity night at the school. Tim joined me and my usual entourage from school. As the evening was winding down, we went outside and sat on a small hill overlooking the football field. All was well until an acquaintance from school attacked me from behind. I was seated at the time and at a significant disadvantage. We tumbled down the hill and landed on the football field in single combat. I don’t recall how long the engagement lasted, but it ended in a draw as our respective factions pulled the belligerents apart. To this day I don’t know what motivated the attack.
On the drive home, I noticed my class ring had fallen off during the affray. It was near midnight on a moonless Saturday night, and my ring was somewhere on an unlighted football field. I decided it was futile to return to the field as the odds of finding the ring were slim even in daylight. Everyone went home and went to bed, or so I thought.
Early Sunday morning my dad followed his usual routine of going outside to retrieve the Sunday paper from the lawn. When he opened our front door, he noticed something scotch taped to the outer side. It was my class ring. While the rest of the town slept, Tim went to his house, retrieved a rake, hiked back to the school, and in the gloom of night raked the football field until he found my ring.
I have no words to describe my gratitude or my sense of loss at the passing of the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Knowing Tim I can’t help but believe he was probably attempting to help someone when tragedy struck. The loss of a friend is still heartfelt to this day.