THE WALL OF FACES

My name is Krissy and I am the oldest daughter of Uncle Mike's sister, Linda and friend of the family Gary Larson. Uncle Mike died when I was a little over a year old. My great grandma Bessie used to tell me that I was the apple of Uncle Mike's eye. It blesses my heart to hear that since I don't have real memories of him. I do however have a vision in my mind of him (whether real or not I don't know). He was rounding the corner of an apartment building we were living in and as he approached us, I saw a tall man in a military uniform with a bright shining light surrounding him. I know some things about him but I so wish I could have known him more. Some of the stories posted here about Uncle Mike are sweet and give me a better glimpse of who he was. I would love to know more. If anyone on here sees this and knew him personally, I would love to hear more stories about Uncle Mike by email.

Michael and I were stationed in Georgia together when we got orders for Vietnam he went to his folks in
Minnesota & left a week early and came to stay with me and my folks before we went to Vietnam that’s the last time I saw him and I love him as a brother. I feel bad that he didn’t get to spend the other week with his folks hindsight is always 2020. God bless his soul and God rest his soul.

Remember to save for them a place inside of you, and save one backward glance when you are leaving, for the places they can no longer go...

Your sacrifice is not forgotten.

HOOAH

When you turned eleven, our mothers planned your birthday at my house, next door to your house. You sat at my dining room table with all the kids on the block blowing out candles. You were the oldest of us kids on the block, our leader growing up. You led us raiding donnie's apple trees, organized our baseball behind your house in the alley, handed us free brownies back door of your dad's bakery, led us kids in a two day monopoly game on your lawn. Squished a pie in my face once. We all looked up to Mike - he was our leader growing up. Steve lived across the street from Mike , a year younger. One day Steve said mike got drafted, as kind of a funny thing in his dry wit - I recall. Mike must have finished boot camp, and home on leave. Last time I ever saw Mike - he walked out his door, passed me in my front yard. As usual with us kids, I asked Mike if he needed anything - he was our leader growing up. He was fast walking, somber by me. I never saw him that way before. He replied back without looking at me, "Get me a bottle of whisky." He was being funny of course. He was always a confident, gentle and mild manor personality, that is who we knew him as. I never saw him again as he walked up the street to the store. The army car pulled up in front of his house later. They were too scared to just go up to his front door, knock to meet his mother. They had to rehearse first - at my house. They knocked on my front door first. My brother answered and told them Mike's house was next door to us. That was not a mistake; deliberate, so they could get courage to knock on his door. Then they walked to Mikes house with the news. His picture was on top of his flag covered closed box at visitation. My father said he was run over by a tank. It sounded better. A girl cried non-stop in the corner all thru visitation. In later years, flowers were always found yearly on his grave, placed there by some unknown person - probably that girl. A half dozen years later I ran into Steve at the store end of our block. We chatted for a half minute, nothing for a minute - we grew up like brothers, hunting and such. Steve, suddenly said to me, "Mike went and got himself killed." That was Steve's way to tell me Mike was plain gone. It was the only time Steve would have ever mentioned that to anyone, and it would be to me, that our leader was gone. Never ever should Mike be completely forgotten, never. And here, this is my way of making that happen.