THE WALL OF FACES

It took a toll on all that served there, some more than others, some sooner than others. Thank you for serving.

SP4 Sylvester Roach was an aircraft maintenance apprentice and door gunner serving with the 134th Assault Helicopter Company. On December 26, 1968, SP4 Roach died after he shot himself in the stomach with a .38 caliber pistol at Camp Radcliff during a bout of depression the day after Christmas 1968. He died one hour later at the 17th Field Hospital at An Khe. The medical officer who filed his certificate of death cited evidence of alcoholism as a contributing factor in his death. [Taken from coffeltdatabase.org and underwoodconsulting.org]

SP4 Sylvester Roach was an aircraft maintenance apprentice and door gunner serving with the 134th Assault Helicopter Company. On December 26, 1968, SP4 Roach died after he shot himself in the stomach with a .38 caliber pistol at Camp Radcliff during a bout of depression the day after Christmas 1968. He died one hour later at the 17th Field Hospital at An Khe. The medical officer who filed his certificate death cited evidence of alcoholism as a contributing factor in his death. [Taken from coffeltdatabase.org and underwoodconsulting.org]

Dear SP4 Sylvester Roach, sir

As an American, I would like to thank you for your service and for your sacrifice made on behalf of our wonderful country. The youth of today could gain much by learning of heroes such as yourself, men and women whose courage and heart can never be questioned.

May God allow you to read this, and may He allow me to someday shake your hand when I get to Heaven to personally thank you. May he also allow my father to find you and shake your hand now to say thank you; for America, and for those who love you.

With respect, and the best salute a civilian can muster for you, Sir

Curt Carter

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