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HONORED ON PANEL 51E, LINE 15 OF THE WALL
SCOTT ALAN WRIGHT
WALL NAME
SCOTT A WRIGHT
PANEL / LINE
51E/15
DATE OF BIRTH
CASUALTY PROVINCE
DATE OF CASUALTY
HOME OF RECORD
COUNTY OF RECORD
STATE
BRANCH OF SERVICE
RANK
REMEMBRANCES
LEFT FOR SCOTT ALAN WRIGHT
POSTED ON 5.18.2017
POSTED BY: Nancy Wright Gelband O'Connor
Wish I knew more...
POSTED ON 11.27.2015
POSTED BY: John Modesitt
Family remembered.
I don't remember Scotty. I do remember vividly the day when my mom received a phone call from uncle Allan. My mom fell to her knees and my Dad was so over come he had to leave the room, leaving my siblings and I to wonder what had happened. At the time I was too young to understand what was happening, but not too young to understand the impact on my mom and dad. They loved him as much as their own. His picture never left our living room.
Something always drew me to visit his resting place. I go there every now and then. My mom says its an epiphany. I can't help but thinking of him, someone whom gave the ultimate sacrifice. Full of hope and promise. I give thanks for what I have because of men like him.
Something always drew me to visit his resting place. I go there every now and then. My mom says its an epiphany. I can't help but thinking of him, someone whom gave the ultimate sacrifice. Full of hope and promise. I give thanks for what I have because of men like him.
POSTED ON 11.4.2015
POSTED BY: Nancy Wright Gelband O'Connor
A Brother and a Hero - Memorial Day 2015
On this Memorial Day, a day when flags wave above doors and we are reminded of stories of past wars and of both the fallen and returned heroes, I give pause to consider the human cost to protect and empower our great country. Though much of today's focus is on remembering their sacrifice with gratitude, it is with grief that I consider that so many were only at the threshold of realizing their dreams.
Some came home to realize them. And for those who didn't, my heart hurts to consider the abrupt end to a life barely begun. It is especially difficult for me to accept such sacrifice from names and faces unknown to me yet making my life more important than their own. I join our nation in thanking those who have sacrificed so much for this country and personally this never seems enough.
This year, I would like to give you a name and a face of one hero I miss sorely but for whom my pride runneth over and I regret my expression of gratitude comes late by forty-seven years. Scott Alan Wright, my oldest brother, was one of too many who did not return home from Viet Nam. His sacrifice made on April, 20 1968 at the age of 19 was when Memorial Day took on new meaning for me. I say this not for drama's sake but to emphasize that it is never as much about the life ended as it is about the life lived and the family who survives it and in this case the sister who tells the hero’s story
This American hero was the oldest of five siblings - a big brother who referred to the rest of us as "the kids". He was five years older than me and he protected me from bullies more than once.
He played baseball on the Moose league as a boy and recently a school friend wrote this about him. "As I grew up on the Moose Little League Team, your brother Scott, though a bit older, treated me like a friend and a peer, something I will always remember about him. That was unlike most of our older teammates who paid us younger kids no notice." It is touching that others remember Scott as a hero in their own unique way.
Scott was funny and used to wrestle with our two younger brothers at the same time and I can still hear him say "Come on, with one hand behind my back .., come on guys give me what you've got” followed by laughter and then, as my mother routinely predicted, ending with crying - not Scott of course. More pictures race by and I can see his girlfriend, the one he intended to marry, happily posing with Scott before my grandfather's camera and now scenes of our adoring grandfather hunting for rabbits with "the son he never had".
Memories of my brother traipsing with a friend on a Saturday morning through the bedroom my sister and I shared - the same friend that my sister would date that night (bedrooms were tandem then and boys I suppose have always been a bit clueless about such things) and it makes me chuckle. There was yelling and of course it was not Scott.
The chin-up bar where he insisted I be an audience and counter of his pull-ups comes to mind. He lifted weights, he was muscular and he drank protein drinks before their time. He taught me to ride a two-wheeler. And he once chased me into the house holding a squirming garden snake. There was screaming and of course it was not Scott.
Scott enlisted in the Marines. His saved letters to my mother revealed over and over again his pride in not only serving his country – but serving it as a Marine. My last memory of him was at the airport - his hug and kiss on my forehead followed by my last glimpse of him - his dimpled smile and his wave goodbye. I was fourteen and I cried quietly all the way home in the backseat of my parent’s car. The rest of Scott's story involved many tears but that is not the part that validates his life. That is not a part of his story as much as it became a profound part of mine.
Scott was a hero - he was a son and a grandson and a nephew and a cousin and a brother and a friend and he is missed deeply. I am beyond proud of him and I hold him in the ranks of the bravest of big brothers and humans. He is a name and a face that I invite you to remember the next time you place your hand over your heart in gratitude for the freedoms that Scott and countless others made possible.
Proud of you and missing you dear brother,
Nancy
Some came home to realize them. And for those who didn't, my heart hurts to consider the abrupt end to a life barely begun. It is especially difficult for me to accept such sacrifice from names and faces unknown to me yet making my life more important than their own. I join our nation in thanking those who have sacrificed so much for this country and personally this never seems enough.
This year, I would like to give you a name and a face of one hero I miss sorely but for whom my pride runneth over and I regret my expression of gratitude comes late by forty-seven years. Scott Alan Wright, my oldest brother, was one of too many who did not return home from Viet Nam. His sacrifice made on April, 20 1968 at the age of 19 was when Memorial Day took on new meaning for me. I say this not for drama's sake but to emphasize that it is never as much about the life ended as it is about the life lived and the family who survives it and in this case the sister who tells the hero’s story
This American hero was the oldest of five siblings - a big brother who referred to the rest of us as "the kids". He was five years older than me and he protected me from bullies more than once.
He played baseball on the Moose league as a boy and recently a school friend wrote this about him. "As I grew up on the Moose Little League Team, your brother Scott, though a bit older, treated me like a friend and a peer, something I will always remember about him. That was unlike most of our older teammates who paid us younger kids no notice." It is touching that others remember Scott as a hero in their own unique way.
Scott was funny and used to wrestle with our two younger brothers at the same time and I can still hear him say "Come on, with one hand behind my back .., come on guys give me what you've got” followed by laughter and then, as my mother routinely predicted, ending with crying - not Scott of course. More pictures race by and I can see his girlfriend, the one he intended to marry, happily posing with Scott before my grandfather's camera and now scenes of our adoring grandfather hunting for rabbits with "the son he never had".
Memories of my brother traipsing with a friend on a Saturday morning through the bedroom my sister and I shared - the same friend that my sister would date that night (bedrooms were tandem then and boys I suppose have always been a bit clueless about such things) and it makes me chuckle. There was yelling and of course it was not Scott.
The chin-up bar where he insisted I be an audience and counter of his pull-ups comes to mind. He lifted weights, he was muscular and he drank protein drinks before their time. He taught me to ride a two-wheeler. And he once chased me into the house holding a squirming garden snake. There was screaming and of course it was not Scott.
Scott enlisted in the Marines. His saved letters to my mother revealed over and over again his pride in not only serving his country – but serving it as a Marine. My last memory of him was at the airport - his hug and kiss on my forehead followed by my last glimpse of him - his dimpled smile and his wave goodbye. I was fourteen and I cried quietly all the way home in the backseat of my parent’s car. The rest of Scott's story involved many tears but that is not the part that validates his life. That is not a part of his story as much as it became a profound part of mine.
Scott was a hero - he was a son and a grandson and a nephew and a cousin and a brother and a friend and he is missed deeply. I am beyond proud of him and I hold him in the ranks of the bravest of big brothers and humans. He is a name and a face that I invite you to remember the next time you place your hand over your heart in gratitude for the freedoms that Scott and countless others made possible.
Proud of you and missing you dear brother,
Nancy
POSTED ON 11.2.2015
DGHS Class of "66"
Scott,
I keep you and Ray Hengels KIA (9/4/67) and Fred Kovarik KIA (3/28/70) in my thoughts and prayers. You were a fine person. I enjoyed knowing you while attending DGHS class of "66". You guy's are missed.
Huey
I keep you and Ray Hengels KIA (9/4/67) and Fred Kovarik KIA (3/28/70) in my thoughts and prayers. You were a fine person. I enjoyed knowing you while attending DGHS class of "66". You guy's are missed.
Huey